anzai who’s fallen deep into his love for you has found himself in a lust— but can he control himself?
masturbation ,biting, blood smear, blood drinking, p in v, rut like themes, scratching, a semi shy anzai. not proofread.
he felt so disgusted by himself, how could he think about you in this way? you were more than this— you deserved more to be a simple thought that only gave himself pleasure. you weren’t some girl who was helping him come in his hand.
no, you were more than that, you were a huge crush he had for you ever since you came onto the job. (both of you had already spoke of this, but he still feels like even if you were dating, he’d have the hugest crush on you still ) he bit his lip, a hand stifling his moans and he flicks his wrists faster. oh god, how he wants you so bad. he wishes he could admit how he thinks of you in such an ungodly hour and way— but he cant, knowing how cruel the world can be towards devils.
but he feels so good, its better than him sinking his teeth into you somewhere. he cant, he has to find other ways of pleasure than that.
his hips buck up, a grunt rippling through his throat and he gasps. “oh, god..” he moans softly, his closed eyes squeezing tighter and he whines. “please..” his forearm covers his eyes, his balls lurching a little from the edging he gave himself. he grants himself ecstasy, feeling himself release fat, thick globs of semen ooze from his cockhead.
“where have you been, anzaii?” practically jumping out of your skin when he opens and quickly slams the door. your heart settles down, only realizing its your deviled beloved boyfriend, and sigh. “told you about suddenly coming in.”
“sorry,” he apologized, a bead of sweat rolling down his cheek and he plops onto the side of the bed— your shared bed, next to you. “i just had to handle.. some things.”
“some things?” you ask, clarifying. you watch him nod his head, not even daring to look your direction— nor your face. “like what?” you ask, his face turning crimson and he starts to bounce his knee. “aaanzai?”
“i— uh..” he starts, stammering over every other word and he swallows thick spit. “i.. almost transformed. and i had to handle that.”
“you couldve just asked me for help, you know.” you sigh, going back to your phone and scrolling to try and ignore his words, you hated how he just had to do everything on his own. “cant even let your girlfriend help you with anything.”
he looks at you stunned, and a pang hits his heart. “yeah, i know— its just-“
“its just what, anzai?” you snip at him, eyes snapping to him. “that youre afraid of what’ll happen? youre not sure how i would look at you?” you badger him, you hate doing this to him, but you’re his girlfriend for fuck sakes! and your supposed to help him! “what could it possibly be that i cannot do to help you?”
he only stares at you, throat dry and his knee stops bouncing. he sighs, putting his palms over your hands. “i just—“
you cut him off, pressing your lips to his own and small tears dribble down your face. your smaller hands find their way onto his neck, pulling yourself a little closer onto him. he reciprocates, pulling you closer by your back and he breathes heavy through his nose, cocking his head to the side. “anzai, please, just let me help you— for once in this lifetime.”
he nods, sucking onto your bottom lip and pressing you down into the bed. his groin pressed against your clothed cunny, his groans spilling into your mouth as he feels your heartbeat from between your legs. he pins your hands by entwining his, the sweat mixing into your skin. he pulls up, staring down into your eyes and his eyes are red, yellow and black slits for pupils.
your heart beats faster, your head spins from how the room is starting to become a little stuffy— but you didnt mind, your lips parting open and spreading your legs a little more for him to make himself at home. “anzai..” you softly say, taking his hand and placing it to your dampened shorts. “please..”
he watches intensely, his heart of his own races and he nods. he takes his fingers and laced them around your waistband, pulling your inside shorts down and stills. god, youre wet.. and he has to reevaluate himself before he takes two fingers to lap up your juices— pressing the digits onto his tongue and he moans.
his eyes snap back to your face, pouncing onto you and he pulls your top and bra off, watching your naked movements. he feels.. new, but safe. and he leans forward, sticking his tongue out to flick at your perky nipple. he grabs his belt buckle, undoing the metal and he pulls his aching cock out; pressing his lips to yours again.
you squeak in his mouth, your arms around his neck and legs caging him in and a moan bubbles out when you feel his cock slide against your folds. you open your eyes, seeing his fangs out and glimmering in the light as he keeps his own closed— for now, at least.
“is.. this okay?” he asks, slowly thrusting his undercock against your clit and gathering your juices onto his shaft and some of his balls. “need you now.. more than ever, angel.”
you nod, feeling the stretch of your cunt open up to him as he slips himself in. he wasn’t exactly huge, nor was he average. its been a long time since you got laid, sensually of course. your old flings never had sex with you, just mere fucking.
he pauses at each inch sinking into you, a shaky breath at each inch and biting his lip. he cant help it, feeling your walls spasm onto his length and holding your hands down to keep himself grounded to earth. thats what he loved you for, for keeping him to earth.
“you ready..?” you ask, watching him tremble and your fingers trace his skin. “we can stop here if you—“
“i dont want to stop.” he redirects, kissing your shoulder. “im okay, we can keep going.”
you nod, a soft moan as he moved his hips inside of you, then pulling hisself back— just to push in deeper and deeper each time he got closer to your womb. “anzai..” you softly say, eyes closed and he feels it.
your pulse.
he feels his temperature rise up just a bit, well, it was already risen. he furrows his head into the crook of your neck, kissing and open mouth sucking on your skin. the sounds of his cock plunging into your juicy pussy echoing throughout the walls and his moans into your skin.
“wanted this for so long, so so long..” he whines, his left hand clawing at the fabric and the sound of it tearing alerts you for a second. he moans when you clamp down on his cock, sucking him in deeper than he already was and he jolts a bit. his mind starts to slip, his hand on yours to keep you close..
he grunts, his thrusts becoming more aggressive until you feel his adams apple start to bob a little, and he breathes heavier against your skin— and then you feel it.
he bit you, trying to desperately hide his moans. and yet, his teeth sink deeper into your skin, your flesh pulsating and he eagerly drinks the red liquid that oozes out from two puncture wounds. “a-anzai—“
he pulls you tightly to him, his thrusts starting to become ravaging and he pulls away, lips tinted with a deep red and he stares down at your shoulder. his hand subconsciously moves and presses against your wound, smearing red down to your breasts and a thumb caressing your lips.
“an—“ you try to say, but the devil’s lips press to yours again, it tastes like metal in his mouth. nothing you havent dealt with before, since you sometimes bite the inside of your cheek as a subconscious response or tic. and your moans spill as he continues to knock winds from your body.
“anzai, anzai, anzai!” you squeal, trying desperately to catch your breath and he nods, kissing the lobe of your ear to come undone, to help him get better. the coil in your tummy, thats been so eager and desperate to snap for however long hes been around you— it finally snapped, your walls spasming onto him and he gasps.
the sucking of your walls that pulls him in closer does something to him, his eyes rolling back and he grits his teeth, pulling his hips back in a desperate attempt and fat globs of his come dribble onto the back of your thighs.
both of you, together, lay against the soft mattress and he realizes what he’s done. “oh god,” he starts, pressing his digits to your shoulder. “i.. im sorry—“
“its okay, you didnt take a whole bunch..” you assure him, pressing the wound. “and you stopped when you shouldve, so its all okay. youre building your tolerance, remember?”
he nods, scooting himself closer to you and then taking your hands into his. “did you enjoy yourself?” he asks, his eyes back to having his dark circles and not his transformed state. “did i pressure you?”
“yes and no.” you say, a smile on your face.
“yes and no that you enjoyed yourself?” he asks, a little lost but hes got his heart in the right direction.
“yes i enjoyed myself and no you didn’t pressure me, anzai.” you correct him, kissing his lips. “its okay, i got to help you.”
“.. would you help me like this more often? you dont have to, but if you do then thats also okay—“
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You’re asleep in his bed. And your top doesn’t fit the way it's supposed to.
You came over a couple of hours ago, bearing your homework to do in case he got called into work again. And like clockwork- he did. So he found himself leaving you and your sad smile alone at his place to entertain yourself until he got back. And he promised. He promised that he wouldn’t be long. The call didn’t sound that serious. They probably didn’t need him, specifically. Just a couple of extra hands. He’ll be back before you know it. He’ll be back before it matters.
It’s two in the morning by the time he’s making his way through the front door.
He sees your shoes still by the door and your bag left on his couch. He sees your homework is finished, and left in a neat pile on top of your lecture notes and textbooks on his table. He sees your dishes from dinner on the drying rack and his dinner, completely untouched, on the counter right where he can find it as soon as he gets back. And he sees the door to his bedroom open just a crack. Just enough for him to peer through.
Just enough to see you.
He’s standing in the doorframe leading to his bedroom before he knows it. He’s peering down, watching you like some sort of creep, before he knows it. But he can’t help it. He can’t stop. Because in the dark of the night, he sees you, illuminated by the moonlight streaming in through his blinds. You’re tucked underneath his covers. Eyes closed. Breathing softly. Nice and sweet and warm and cozy under his sheets. On his bed. At his apartment. He found you there. You went here on your own. And here you are, waiting for him. To wake you up. To crawl into bed with you. To be here with you.
It makes him smile softly despite knowing that there’s no one around to see it. It fills him with a warmth in his chest. You’re so cute. This is so domestic. It makes him feel so trusted. You could have left at any time. You could have finished your homework and gone home. Hell, you could have gone home the second he got pulled away to work. Or the moment you realized that he wouldn’t be coming home anytime soon. But you didn’t. You simply moved in for the night. You reminded him that you’re his, even when he’s not there to say it.
His heart swells at the thought. You’ve been so accepting of him. You’ve been so understanding. So patient and so caring of him. And to find you here after a hard, long shift of chasing devils and cleaning up society? To find you safe and sound and cuddled up in his bed? Awaiting his return? It makes him want to lean down and kiss you all over. Your forehead. Your cheeks. Your nose. Your lips. Your-
Just then, you move.
It’s a slight shift. One that brings the covers down, just a tiny bit. But in reality, you’re just turning on your side. Just turning towards him, as if you sensed his presence. But your eyes are still closed. And your breathing is still even. You’re still asleep. You’re still peacefully asleep. Blissfully aware of his presence or his thoughts or his feelings, or the world around you.
But your top doesn’t fit the way it’s supposed to.
It’s a tank top. One made of a thin yet soft and breathable material. One that plunges a little low in the chest every time you wear it. One that must have been old or well-loved or both, based on the way the straps are stretched out and the color has faded. But your top doesn’t fit the way it’s supposed to. Maybe it did once. But it doesn’t anymore.
He knows this because, as you turn towards him, the front of your top gets caught around something, causing the fabric to be pulled to the side and dip down low. Lower than before. Lower than it should be. And low enough, one of your perfect, supple breasts slips out without you even noticing.
Before he even blinks, he finds himself locked in his own bathroom with his hands undoing his belt. The effect you have on him is powerful, as it is instantaneous. He can’t get the image out of his mind, and he can’t seem to move his hands fast enough. Because it feels like it takes ages for him to free his erection from his pants and wrap his fist around it, and start pumping as he furiously masturbates to what he just saw. What he just witnessed.
Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him.
“I wanna…” Words tumble out of his mouth softly. They’re not planned. And they flow out in careless whispers for him and only him to hear. But at the moment, he can’t focus on completing that thought. His mind is too preoccupied with that split-second memory of the unbearable beauty in your helplessness. So instead of trying to control himself. Instead of trying to contain the excitement, the arousal he feels at some little glimpse of a part of you he hasn’t seen yet, he lets himself go. Just a little bit. He feeds the devil in him. He feeds the man in him. But he starves it too. “I need to…I need…need…”
He starves it by simply spitting into his hands and wrapping it even tighter around his dick instead of going back out there and pulling back to the covers to wake you up to someone you might never forget.
With a curse, he leans his back against the door of the bathroom and lets out a harsh breath as his eyes flutter closed. Like a ghost, it haunts him. You haunt him. You curled up on his bed, exposing your body so carelessly like that? It nearly destroys him. But so do the little details he seems to suddenly recall now that his eyes are closed and all he can hear is the sound of his hand stroking his cock like a lifeline.
Like your scent. It was all over his place. But his room was doused in it. He wonders if his bed is the same way now. He wonders if he smells like him or if you smell like his bed. He doesn’t know. He can’t decide. Does he want you to smell like him? Or does he want his world to smell like you? It’s a hard, hard decision. He wants both. Realistically, he wants both. But he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to handle either. So he tries to think of something else to calm himself down. Something to keep him death gripping his cock so hard that he’ll draw blood. Something to keep him from going back to his room and finding out what he prefers for himself.
But it’s impossible. As he tries to think of the case he just worked tonight, he thinks of clothes. He thinks about all that he saw in the surroundings, and the clothes the bystanders were wearing. He thinks of the girl wearing a shirt he thought you would have loved and briefly considered buying for you. But that leads him to thinking about how he saw the clothes you were wearing earlier today, folded up in a neat pile on the desk in his room. You’re not wearing them. He knows you’re not wearing them because he’s seen you wear the top that you’re currently in, late at night when he’s at your place. You always cover it with a soft little cardigan. One that drowns you in fabric and reminds him that you’re so, so, so different from the dark world he lives in. But he knows he’s seen you in that piece before. And he knows it’s never been that big of a problem before. At least, not in the way that it is right now.
But he’s also seen you wear those shorts before, too. Those loose-fitting, cotton shorts. The ones he always found to be adorable and flattering on your figure. The same shorts he just saw in a crumpled pile on the floor right near his bed. The bed you’re currently sleeping in…
He pictures you in nothing but that top that doesn’t fit right and a pair of panties hidden under his sheets. He pictures you in the epitome of the crossroads between sex and comfort, and it nearly destroys him.
He opens his eyes and peers downward, looking at his debauchery for himself- looking for a way to ground himself now that he’s recognized just how thin his failing resolve is. The tip of his cock is flushed an angry red color as it stands erect between his legs and within his hand. There’s already a trail of precum leaking from the head at a steady rate, making a physical mess of an already messy situation. It’s smeared all over the tops of his fingers and the back of his hand. It mixes easily with his spit. But it’s not what he wants. It's not what he needs. He needs you. He needs the nectar you produce from the space between your thighs. He needs to pretty the sounds that only your voice can make. He needs your body. He needs you. Fuck, he needs you.
But one look at the long claws he has protruding from his fingers, and he’s back to closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, and leaning his body back against his bathroom door once more.
He fights the urge to back into his room. It’s hard. It’s impossible, even. But he keeps fighting. He keeps jerking himself off alone with a grip that’s too tight and a pace that’s too fast.
And he does it in the dark. He does it in secret. He does it alone. He does it in his bathroom, where you’re just on the other side of the wall, sleeping peacefully like the little angel you are. But he does it. He keeps biting back his groans of desire. He keeps himself in check. He keeps the monster- the devil inside of him contained. As much as he can. As much as he possibly can. Because he has to. He needs to.
Because if he sees you? If he gets to you? If he touches you? If he gets to have you?
“A-anzai…? Is that you in there? Are you back from work now…?”
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Anzai’s the kinda guy to sneak into your room late at night through the window (which you now keep unlocked because of him).
Slowly sliding into your bed gently and so quietly you don’t even jostle from your sleep. His big cold hands tracing your soft skin.
And if you catch him doing this he’ll scold you for leaving your door open despite knowing its for him to easily enter.
Anzai’s the typa guy to fuck you after a long day of being on the job. His hands all over your body,eyes red and devilish as he pulls your panties off slowly to tease you.
He’ll slap his tip against your puffy clit twice almost as if its tradition,before slowly sinking into you. (Hes def a missionary guy).
One hand near your head. And the other on your tummy feeling where his cock peaked through. Pulling you gently back onto his lengthy dick.
Anzai’s the typa guy to praise you non stop but fuck you like he hates you. His words gentle and loving while his hips move a mile a minute.
Anzais the type to after cumming fuck it all back into you insisting you keep it in and then gets all whiney from the overstimulation.
———
AN: a small drabble because my last one got some likes which im very shocked about! But thanks really.
Sitting here thinking about being between his legs, spread wide for you, and licking his juicy bulge that’s still covered in his underwear….hearing him moan and press his hardening sex into your tongue…while you reach down and stuff your own sloppy pussy.
