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To them, there is nothing sexier than seeing you in their clothing. Hoodies, T-shirts, old sweatpants, no matter what article of clothing, it doesn't matter. They leave their clothing out purposely just for you to find.
Is it cold outside? Oh, look, their cozy hoodie is on the sofa. Did you not like the new laundry soap? Well, their favorite band t-shirt hasn't been washed yet. Do all of your pants feel itchy? They have plenty of sweatpants for you to wear.
And like a hawk, they study detail of you in their clothing.
You are not foolish. You feel their eyes on you. Sometimes, you slowly tug off a t-shirt just to make them squirm. Other times you ingore wearing their old clothing in favor of your new cloths just to see them pout.
contains consensual rough sex, psycho energy with obsessive undertones, dirty talk, semi-public, praise/degradation mix, light fearplay, mild blood, overstimulation, face touching, possessive behavior, sensual dominance, fucked-up tenderness
He’s been watching you.
Not in the way a predator watches prey. No.
Ryu Ishigori watches you the way a gourmand studies a seven-course meal: slow, savoring, curious.
His tongue glides across the inside of his cheek as he tracks your movements through the crumbling Sendai ruins, and when you finally face him, blood on your blade and a smirk tugging your lip, he smiles like a man who’s just read a perfect wine pairing.
“Well,” he says, brushing ash off his fur-lined sleeve. “Aren’t you just the most beautiful thing in this wasteland.”
You raise your blade. “You flirting or stalling?”
He laughs before tucking his hands into his coat and tilting his head like a polite aristocrat. “Why not both? Though if it’s worth anything, I’d rather take my time with you.”
Your cursed energy flares. So does his smile.
The fight is explosive but controlled. He doesn’t try to kill you. Not really. He tests your strength like a lover teasing your boundaries, slipping in close just to whisper compliments mid-duel.
“You parry like a dancer,” he purrs, dodging a slash. “Did you train under someone? Or are you just that talented?”
You grit your teeth. “Stop fucking talking.”
“Now, now. That’s no way to treat a man who’s enjoying himself.”
Eventually, he traps you. Not with brute force but precision. Your back hits concrete. His palm presses lightly—just lightly—to your throat. He leans in. His breath smells like smoke and something faintly sweet. “You’re not scared,” he murmurs.
“No.”
“You should be,” he says, and then, softly, so gently it makes your stomach twist, he brushes your hair behind your ear. “But I like that you’re not.”
You stare at him. His eyes are blown wide with obsession, and yet his touch is tender.
“I want to taste you,” he says, voice rich and calm, like he’s inviting you to dinner. “Not just your body. Your limit. Your spirit. The moment you crack under me—I want that.”
You blink. “You always talk this much before sex?”
He huffs a breathy laugh. “Only when I’m starving.”
You should say no. But when he leans in and kisses you slow and reverent, his thumb caressing your jaw, you let him.
He undresses you like he’s unwrapping something rare. Not rushed. Not rough. He watches every reaction, every inhale, every twitch, and smiles when you gasp as his fingers stroke between your legs.
“You’re already this wet,” he says, soft and delighted. “God, you’re perfect. May I?”
“…Yes,” you whisper.
He sighs, relieved. “Thank you.”
Then he devours you.
But even then, he’s careful. Skilled. He holds your hips firmly but doesn’t bruise until you ask. And when you tug his hair, grind into his face, and moan his name like it’s a spell, he pulls away just to look at you.
“You’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he says hoarsely. “I think you might be the only thing I’ll ever want again.”
He fucks you hard, yes—but also slow at first, deliberate. He whispers praise against your skin even as he slams into you harder, even as his teeth sink into your shoulder.
“Taking me so well. That brain of yours, so sharp and now look at you. Fucked dumb.”
You whimper. He grabs your face, thumb pressing into your cheek. “Still with me?”
“…Yes,” you breathe.
He kisses your temple. “Good girl.”
And then he ruins you.
By the time he’s done, your body is trembling, dripping, overstimulated and marked in places no one will see but him.
He holds you for a long time after. Presses his palm to your chest and listens to your heartbeat. “…Thank you,” he murmurs again. “You’ve given me something I didn’t think existed anymore.”
You barely speak, dazed. He pulls your clothes back on with eerie care. Straightens your collar. Kisses your knuckles. Then, with that same terrifying smile: “I’ll see you again, sweetheart. Don’t go dying on me. I’m not done with you.”
Your next mission was simple, track a C-grade curse nest, handle it alone, report back. You’d cleared the job quickly, efficiently. But something in your gut itched. A pressure.
Like you were being watched.
And then, like smoke curling at the edge of your vision—you feel it. That cursed energy. That slow, molten pulse. Familiar now. Like a matchstick struck against your skin.
You don’t bother turning around.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” you mutter, wiping blood off your blade.
Footsteps crunch slowly over gravel.
“I’m not?” The voice is calm. Smooth as lacquered wood. “How rude of me. I didn’t know this forest was yours.”
You exhale through your nose. “Ishigori.”
“Still using my full name?” he chuckles, finally stepping into your periphery. “After how close we got?”
You glance at him.
He’s dressed cleaner than any man has a right to be in cursed territory—charcoal pants, a pressed shirt under an open coat, as if he just walked out of a high-end restaurant. He’s even wearing gloves.
“You’re not my target,” you mutter.
“Nor are you mine.” He spreads his arms slightly, grinning. “A rare moment of peace, don’t you think?”
You don’t move. You don’t lower your weapon.
He steps closer. “I heard you were in the area. Took a detour.”
You raise a brow. “Heard from who?”
He doesn’t answer.
Instead, he stops right in front of you, eyes raking over your frame—subtle, hungry, but restrained. You can feel the tension he’s holding under that gentleman mask. The need to touch. To taste. To own.
But he doesn’t. Not yet.
“You look well,” he murmurs. “Still strong. Sharp-eyed.” His gaze flicks to your throat. “No new marks.”
You bristle. “You expecting someone else to leave them?”
He smiles wider. “I was hoping you’d let me do it again.” Silence stretches. Then, softly, almost conspiratorially—he steps even closer and says: “Do you think about it?”
Your pulse spikes. His gloved fingers skim along your wrist. Barely a touch. “That night,” he murmurs. “Your body. My hands. The way you trembled.”
You tighten your jaw. “You’re not here to fight. Don’t push your luck.”
His eyes flash. “No fighting. Just indulging.”
He moves behind you, slow and controlled, like a chef circling a rare cut of meat. His breath kisses your ear as he leans down.
“You remember what I said, don’t you?” he whispers. “You’re not a habit. You’re the main course.”
You step forward quickly, putting distance between you, trying to catch your breath.
He doesn’t chase. He just watches. Calm. Collected. Starving.
“I won’t touch you,” he says. “Not unless you ask.”
“…Why are you really here?”
He shrugs, brushing imaginary lint off his coat. “Because you made me feel something. I’ve killed a hundred sorcerers, but I only remember you.”
Your throat tightens. “You’re insane.”
“I’m honest,” he says, voice smooth. “You’re just not used to being wanted like this.”
You hate how true that feels. You hate that your fingers twitch with memory—the silk sheets, his mouth, the bruises he kissed afterward.
Ryu steps closer again. “Let me make you dinner.”
You blink. “What?”
He grins. “No games. No missions. Just us. Food. Wine. Conversation. I want to see what you’re like when you’re not bleeding.”
“And if I say no?“
He pauses. Then in a tone so sincere it stabs through your armor, he says: “Then I’ll leave. I won’t follow. Not tonight.”
You study him. There’s madness in his eyes. Hunger. But also patience. Focus. Like he’s waited his whole life for something to deserve craving. “…Where?”
He smiles. And it’s devastating. “I’ll send the coordinates.” And then, true to his word—he turns and walks away.
No fight. No threats.
But as he vanishes into the trees, you swear you hear him whisper to himself: “God, she’s perfect.”
The place he sends you isn‘t a restaurant.
It’s a private villa, remote, clean, designed. Tucked into the hillside like a secret, with lights that glow gold through polished windows. There’s soft jazz playing inside. Wine breathing on the counter.
And the scent of seared garlic and roasted something hangs in the air like an invitation.
You step through the door slowly. He doesn’t greet you.
He’s already in the kitchen, back to you, shirtless, barefoot, wearing slacks low on his hips. A towel’s draped around his neck, and his hair.
It makes you stop. You’d never seen it like this before.
Usually he tucks it into a rolled style, twisted and clean, like a man who prides himself on presentation. You assumed it barely reached his jaw.
But now? It’s undone. Damp from the shower. Tousled. Soft waves curling around his temples and brushing the edges of his cheekbones.
He turns, sensing you.
“Ah.” His smile curls slowly. “Early.”
Your eyes flick to his hair.
His grin sharpens. “Didn’t know I had that much, did you?”
You blink once. “You hide it.”
“I contain it,” he replies smoothly, walking toward you. “Control is elegance.”
He’s holding a wine glass. Not in a rush to give it to you, just offering it slowly, as if sharing is a gift you’ve earned.
You take it. He watches the way your fingers curl around the stem. “That’s a 2010 Clos de Tart,” he says. “Pairing it with duck tonight.”
You take a sip. It’s too smooth, too expensive.
He watches you drink. “You’re tense,” he notes. “Still expecting me to throw you over the table?”
“You said no knives.”
“I did,” he nods, stepping just a little closer. “But I never said I wouldn’t touch you.”
You raise a brow. “Are we doing dinner or posturing?”
“Both,” he replies, amused. “Sit.”
You do. Against your better judgment.
The meal is simple. Ridiculously well-cooked. Perfect portions, garnishes, plating. The man probably used tweezers.
And yet—he doesn’t eat much. He just watches. Elbows on the table, chin resting on one hand, damp strands of hair curling against his temple.
“You always look at people this intensely?” you mutter.
“No,” he says. “Just you.”
Your skin prickles.
He rises to clear the table without asking. Moves like someone who’s practiced this, not because he serves people, but because he likes the control.
You shift in your seat. “What do you do when you’re not trying to seduce someone?”
“I don’t try,” he says from the kitchen. “I choose.”
And when he returns—you feel it again: That gaze. Focused. Electric. He stops in front of you. “I told you I wouldn’t touch you unless you asked.”
You stand slowly. “I didn’t ask.”
He steps into your space. Close. Steady. “You’re going to.” His voice is low. Confident. Unhurried. The kind of calm that’s more dangerous than any threat.
You lift a hand, fingertips grazing through the hair at his temple. It’s soft. Still damp at the roots.
“So this is what you hide,” you murmur.
“Only from people who don’t deserve it,” he replies, tilting his face into your touch.
Your heart’s racing. He looks down at you like you’re dessert and wine and destruction all at once. “Tell me you want me.”
You exhale. “I do.”
His hand finds your hip. His other lifts to cup your jaw, slow and precise. And he kisses you. Not like the wild first time. No. This is measured. Claimed. Lips dragging, thumb brushing under your ear, every part of him pulling you into his pace.
He hums against your mouth.
“Still the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” he whispers. Then his forehead presses to yours. “Let me undress you properly this time.”
You’re not sure how you got to his bedroom.
Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way his hand slid to the back of your neck during the kiss. Maybe it was that voice—that calm, composed voice saying “Let me undress you properly this time.”
Now you stand in front of him. His hands are on your hips. His hair is still curled slightly around his jaw, framing a face that’s too beautiful for the things he’s done.
You stare at him. Then you say it. “Why are you like this?”
He tilts his head, eyes soft. “Like what?”
“I thought you were going to kill me. Back in Sendai, when I saw your cursed energy—” your voice drops, raw, “I thought I was going to die.”
He brushes a hand over your side, slow, gentle. “You didn’t.”
“Right. Because you decided to fuck me instead?”
He laughs low, clean and delighted. “No,” he murmurs. “Because I decided you were rare.” His hand slides up to your ribcage. His thumb strokes your skin like he’s checking for cracks. “I’m not soft,” he continues. “I’m precise. I don’t waste effort on what doesn’t deserve it.”
You shiver under his touch.
He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, presses a kiss there—then whispers: “And I don’t damage what I want to keep coming back to.”
You should pull away.
Instead, your fingers find his waistband.
“You keep acting like you’re some refined gentleman,” you breathe, “but I saw you tear through a man’s ribcage with your bare hands.”
He smiles against your skin. “I washed them before I cooked.”
“Fucking psycho.”
His teeth graze your skin. “Maybe.”
He lifts your shirt, slowly, watching your face the whole time. “Arms up.”
You obey. Without thinking. Without fighting.
And that—that—makes him sigh.
“Good girl.”
You freeze. He notices.
“You like that,” he murmurs. “Even if you don’t know it yet.”
He kisses your stomach. One hand moving to your back, unfastening your bra with practiced ease.
“Let me look at you.”
He steps back.
You’re standing in nothing but your underwear now—exposed, vulnerable. But his gaze doesn’t leer. It catalogs. Like he’s building a memory of you in pieces. He walks around you once. Slow. One finger trailing down your spine. You hate how your breath stutters.
He stops behind you. Mouth to your ear. “I wanted to ruin you the first time,” he says. “But now I want to remember you.”
You whisper, hoarse, “This is insane.”
“Then tell me to stop.”
“No.“
He turns you, gently, and kisses you again. This time his hands are reverent, sliding down your arms, over your sides. He kneels in front of you without a word, fingers hooked in the waistband of your underwear. “You’re still tense,” he murmurs. “Let me help.”
Your voice cracks. “You’re the reason I’m tense.”
“And the reason you’re aroused.”
He pulls the fabric down slowly. Then he looks up at you, hair falling over one eye, mouth already parted as he breathes against your skin. “You still think I’m soft?”
You don’t answer.
Because then he licks up your thigh and your knees nearly give out. His mouth is barely inches from your core—tongue flicking out, teasing, savoring. His fingers spread your thighs with the same reverence he used slicing his steak at dinner.
But before he can go further, you stop him. Your fingers curl tight in his hair.
He pauses. “…Something wrong?” he asks, voice low, breath hot against your inner thigh.
You lean down slowly, gripping his chin, tilting his face up to look at you. “Yeah,” you say, smirking. “I’m bored of being dessert.”
Then you tug him up by his hair, fast, hard. His breath catches.
You don’t wait. You pushed him down onto the mattress, crawl over him like a threat, straddling his hips and pinning him with your thighs.
Ryu blinks up at you, hair a mess now, lips wet, hands still frozen mid-air. And then? He grins. “Oh. Okay,” he laughs breathlessly. “That’s how you want to play?”
You grind down once, slow and dangerous. His cock twitches through his slacks. You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Stage is all mine, psycho killer.”
He exhales a sharp breath, arms going lax above his head. “Fuck,” he mutters, almost laughing. “I’m so fucking turned on right now.”
“Shut up,” you murmur, fingers dragging down his chest, nails leaving light scratches. “Your turn.”
You undo his pants with one hand, keeping your weight on him. His pupils dilate. His jaw clenches. He lifts his hips just enough for you to yank his slacks down. He’s already hard, of course he is and the second you wrap your hand around his cock, he groans. “Oh, fuck—”
You stroke once. Slow. Tight. He grips the sheets. You meet his eyes. “So responsive,” you say mockingly. “Didn’t take much to make you break, huh?”
“I’m not breaking,” he breathes. “You’re just—fuck—good.”
You smirk.
Then you slide down his body, never breaking eye contact, until your mouth is hovering just above his tip.
Ryu hisses when your breath ghosts over it. One of his hands shoots out to grip the headboard. You press a kiss to the side of his shaft. He twitches. “You said you liked detail,” you murmur.
“I—shit—yeah—”
“Good. Watch closely.”
And then you swallow him. All the way down. His eyes roll back. His hips jerk. You push him flat with your palm.
“No moving.”
You bob your head slowly at first—just enough to make him lose his goddamn mind. His legs tremble. His throat works hard as he swallows, breath shaking. “Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he groans.
Your lips drag up his cock with purpose, tongue teasing every vein. You hollow your cheeks. His abs flex.
“You’re gonna make me—fuck, you’re gonna make me come if you don’t—”
You pull off with a wet pop. “Beg.”
He blinks at you, stunned. “What?”
“You heard me. Beg.”
He stares. And then he grins like a man at gunpoint who’s never been harder. “…Please,” he rasps. “Please let me come. Fuck—do whatever you want to me.”
You crawl back up his chest, straddling his waist again. “You’re lucky I like the way you beg.”
You sink down on him in one motion. Both of you moan. Ryu’s hands shoot to your waist, but you grab them and shove them back down. “Uh-uh.”
He growls.
“You’re obsessed.”
“You’re not wrong.”
You ride him slow, grinding, forcing him to feel everything.
Ryu’s biting his lip now, neck arched, flushed to the chest, eyes desperate. “I’m gonna come, I’m—fuck, I can’t hold it, you feel so good—”
“Then come.”
And when he finally does, when his hips snap up and he spills into you with a broken moan and clenched fists—you lean down and whisper: “Who’s soft now?”
He laughs breathlessly, body twitching under yours. “…You should marry me,” he mutters.
You blink. “What?”
He looks up at you, eyes hazy, pupils blown. “I’m serious,” he pants. “You’re gonna be the death of me and I want it.”
His body’s still twitching beneath you. Chest rising and falling. Hair stuck to his forehead. Cum leaking down your thighs.
He looks fucking wrecked.
And you? You’re still on top of him. Breathless. Smirking.
You tilt your head, drag your fingers down his sweat-slicked chest, and murmur—“Big words for a tough guy…”
Your hips grind forward just slightly—slow, cruel, enough to make his legs tremble.
“…when I didn’t even come.”
Ryu’s breath catches. He blinks up at you. Then his eyes darken. Not in anger. In complete, feral awe. “Oh my god—” he breathes, eyes wide. “You’re unreal.”
You chuckle, leaning down to kiss the corner of his mouth. “You really came that fast, huh?”
“I—fuck off—you sucked me like it was a fucking death sentence,” he pants. “I saw God. I met my end.”
You laugh into his neck. But then—he flips. Literally. In one sharp, unexpected movement, he rolls you underneath him, arms caging you in, breathing heavy against your face.
“You didn’t come,” he whispers, voice shaking.
You blink. “Yeah. I know. I just said it.”
“I came inside you, and you didn’t fucking come—”
His hands are already moving, desperate, reverent—sliding down your stomach, between your thighs, two fingers slipping through his own cum leaking out of you.
He groans. Actually groans. “I made this mess,” he mutters, tracing the slick around your folds. “You took it—so fucking perfect—and you still… didn’t…”
He looks up. You freeze. His pupils are blown. Eyes glassy. Lips parted. Hair sticking to his cheekbone.
He looks insane. And then—calmly, sweetly, terrifyingly: “…Let me make it up to you.”
You barely manage to speak before he’s sinking down again.
But this time it’s different. There’s no swagger. No smirk. No games.
Just slow, obsessive reverence.
He spreads your thighs and kisses the inside like he’s praying. His hands shake as he lifts your hips to his mouth.
“I’m gonna make you come until you forget your own name.”
A kiss to your clit.
“I’m gonna taste you until I can’t remember food.”
A slow drag of his tongue. You shudder, head falling back.
“Ishigori—”
“No, no,” he murmurs, mouth against you, voice drunk. “Don’t say my name like that unless you mean it.”
Your legs jerk as his tongue swirls, slow at first, then focused. Intent. His nose presses into you. He groans into your pussy like he’s already addicted.
You fist the sheets. “Shit—fuck—”
He lifts his head, lips soaked, pupils nearly gone. “You like that?” he whispers, completely fixated. “I can do this all night. I’ll live here.”
You pull his hair. He moans. And then he goes back in with everything—tongue flicking, sucking, devouring you until your thighs shake.
You cry out as you finally come, grinding into his mouth, and he just keeps licking, arms locked around your thighs like he’ll never let you go.
Only when your body’s twitching does he pull back—face wrecked, lips shining, chest heaving.
He stares at you, like you just destroyed something inside him.
“I think I’m in love with you,” he says.
You blink.
“What?”
He climbs back up your body, grabs your face with both hands, and kisses you deep—messy, almost desperate.
“I said what I said.”
You’re still panting, limp against his chest, skin damp and trembling. He’s straddling your thigh, still hard, still flushed, staring at you like you’re the answer to every hunger he’s ever had.
You blink. Then—you laugh. Not mean. Not cruel. Just breathless and surprised and a little overwhelmed. “You’re such a fucking psycho,” you manage to say, giggling into your arm.
He smiles. Like he loves that answer. “God,” he murmurs, dragging a hand over his face. “You’re so fucking perfect. You don’t even know.”
You hum, tugging his towel off your pillow. “You’re insane. Like actually. You taste me once and suddenly you’re reciting vows?”
He shifts closer, grabs your face again—gentle, reverent.
“You don’t get it.” His voice is softer now, a little cracked. “I’ve had everything. Fought everything. Killed things people don’t even have words for. And none of them felt like this. You’re not just good. You’re—everything.”
His lips are at your throat again, but now it’s slower. Lingering. His hand on your waist tightens possessively, like he can feel you slipping out of his grasp already.
“You’re not leaving,” he says, matter-of-fact. “Not until I figure out how many times it takes to make you stay.”
But before you can respond—before you can mock him again, or kiss him, or tease—Something shifts. Like the air drops ten degrees.
That soft flicker of cursed energy—not his, not yours—foreign.
You feel it on your skin. A buzz. A static wrongness.
Your heart skips. Ryu goes still. His lips stop moving. His hands pause mid-stroke along your waist. He lifts his head slightly, like a predator catching scent.
You whisper, “Did you feel—”
He’s already moving. Quiet. Controlled. Like you flipped a switch.
He rises from the bed, muscles coiled and poised, no wasted motion. He walks across the room without rushing. He’s not frantic. He’s focused.
Before anything else, he reaches for his boxers on the floor. Slides them on with precision. No shame. No fluster. Just calm, unnerving intention. He doesn’t speak until he’s halfway to the balcony. “They followed you.”
His voice is quiet. Flat. Deadly.
You pull the sheet tighter around you. “I didn’t tell anyone—”
“I know.”
He says it like fact. Like gravity.
He stands at the glass door now, bare chest rising and falling, hands loose at his sides. His eyes scan the dark treeline, that chin-length hair still slightly damp, curling at his temples.
Then he hums. Soft. Like a man admiring the scent of wine. “They’re close.”
You sit up. “Ryu—”
“I’m not mad at you.” He turns toward you slowly. “But I’m going to erase them.”
Your throat dries. “…It could be a cursed spirit—”
“It’s not.”
His fingers twitch at his sides. Not clenched. Flexed. Like he’s warming up. Like his body is eager.
You swallow. “You’re not even putting on pants?”
He finally smiles. Crooked. Chilling. “I’m only going to need about 30 seconds.” He walks to the side table, picks up his zipper, shrugs it on over bare skin and boxers like it’s nothing. Like that’s just what he wears to kill. “I give them one chance to leave.”
“And if they don’t?”
He glances at you over his shoulder. That slow grin spreads again. Something unhinged underneath it. “I’ll bring you back their eyes in a bowl.”
Then he slides the glass door open and steps barefoot into the cold, night-drenched woods—not even slamming it.
The second he left, the room felt wrong.
Empty. Charged. Buzzing. You pulled one of his shirts from the dresser—black, oversized, warm from his body. Threw it over your head like armor. Then you sat back on the edge of the bed, trying to breathe through the silence.
Fifteen minutes. That’s how long he’s gone.
You don’t move.
Not when the cursed energy outside evaporates. Not when the forest goes still. Not even when the hum in the walls quiets like a held breath.
You’re afraid to look out the window. Because you know. You felt what he did. And then—The door opens. Slow.
You look up.
And your stomach drops straight through the floor.
He walks in without a sound. Not fast. Not angry.
But completely drenched.
His zipper jacket is open—unzipped halfway, stuck with something too dark to be water. His chest, his neck, his arms, slick with blood. Dried. Fresh. Splattered like he walked through a rainstorm of flesh.
His hands hang loose at his sides. Red down to the knuckles.
There’s blood on his throat. Blood in his hair. A streak smeared across one cheekbone like war paint.
And his eyes.
His eyes are the worst part. They’re bright. Wide. Excited.
He looks like he just fucked someone to death and liked it.
And then—he smiles. Like he’s happy to see you. “Problem’s solved.” His voice is low. Calm. Like it always is.
You don’t respond. You can’t. He steps further in. Leaves footprints.
Wet ones.
You blink once, eyes locked on the dark red trail behind him. His chest rises and falls slowly—like he took a walk, not carved someone apart.
“Are you okay?” he asks, head tilting slightly.
You still can’t speak. He looks down at his hands. Then shrugs, almost sheepishly. “I got a little carried away.”
You’re still sitting there. One of his shirts falling off your shoulder. Legs bare. Your skin still smells like sex and sweat and him.
But everything in your body is screaming something different now. He walks closer. You flinch. He notices. Freezes. A long, too-long pause. And then his smile softens just slightly. His eyes drop to the hem of his blood-streaked jacket.
“I’ll shower,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. “Don’t worry.”
He turns toward the bathroom, footsteps still wet. You don’t say a word. Because for the first time since you met him—you’re not turned on.
You’re not amused. You’re not even confused.
You’re scared.
Your pulse is thudding too hard in your throat.
And it hits you. All at once.
Not just a psycho. Not just obsessed. Not just dangerous.
He isn’t just a psycho—he’s a fucking monster.
We both enjoyed that more than we should have.
If this found the wrong place in your head, the Masterlist has more. If you want me to make it personal, Requests are open.
I personally believe her parents met when Ryu was by herself, patrolling the city when she spotted a demon lurking in an alleyway
Naturally she went to investigate, attacking instantly when she got close enough
However the demon didn’t fight back, merely defending itself and then disappearing as soon as it could
At first she thought it was strange, but just brushed it off as she went back to patrolling
However, when she spotted the same demon a couple days later, the exact same thing happened
She attacked, and he disappeared in an instant
This simultaneously confused and annoyed her, with Ryu now going out of her way to find that specific demon
She told her team about the unusual situation, but was reassured that he was nothing the hunters couldn’t handle
Regardless, Ryu still went out to get answers
It was weeks until she managed to corner the demon, pinning him against the wall with her blade to his throat
She asked why he was in the human world, growing more frustrated as he remained quiet for a few moments
He then said if she was going to kill him that she should just get it over with, which threw Ryu off long enough for him to slip away and disappear
From there a pattern would emerge, with the two of them frequently crossing paths when Ryu was patrolling alone
Unbeknownst to her, the demon was actually seeking her out, wanting to talk more
She’d basically interrogate him about his life as a demon, trying to find his intentions for not attacking her
However, from these questions she’d learn he wasn’t loyal to Gwi-Ma, trying to escape his voice
While Ryu was sceptical at first, the two of them grew closer, with her even answering the demons questions about her
That’s when she realised she genuinely cared about the demon
Not knowing how to handle these feelings, she instantly went out of her way to not see him
Eventually she began seeing him everywhere; in the crowd during concerts, in the corner of her eye when she was on patrol, sometimes even outside her house
However, he’d manage to get Ryu by herself, asking why she’d just leave him and that if she wanted to end things she should say it to his face
They’d definitely argue, saying that whatever they had shouldn’t even have happened since they were so different
The demon would eventually leave, promising not to find her again if she really felt that way
Months would pass, with Ryu missing him more and more
Even the other members would notice, but she’d just say she was stressed about maintaining the Honmoon
She’d try and find the demon again when she was on patrol, with no success
Eventually, when she was alone, she’d start talking to herself; asking him to come back
The moment those words left her mouth, he’d appear; neither of them talking when they locked eyes
From there the two would confess their feelings for one another, despite the two being a demon and hunter, allowing for their relationship to properly start
She wanted to tell Celine, but anytime she brought up the topic of demons, she saw the anger and resentment in her eyes
So instead they kept their relationship a secret, dating for years as Ryu made sure the other hunters never found him
At some point they would get married, merely exchanging rings as a symbol of their union rather than doing anything official
However, when she fell pregnant, she knew she would have to come clean
I believe this caused a falling out with the hunters, with Ryu disappearing since she knew they would never accept her new lifestyle
She continued to hunt demons for as long as she could, doing it from the shadows so her former group couldn’t find her
Her husband would help her during this, using his demon abilities to his advantage and fully taking over when Ryu became too pregnant though
When Rumi was finally born, neither one of her parents knew how to raise such a unique child
At first they were cautious, meticulously noting down her demon attributes and any behaviours they thought were abnormal
However, they very quickly grew not to care about her differences and focused on making sure she was happy
Rumi lived a rather sheltered life with her parents, staying home most of the time until around the age of three
At this point I believe Gwi-Ma heard of a rogue demon that was helping a hunter, sending all his underlings to capture them
Their family remained hidden for a while, however the demons managed to track down the area and they lived in
Not wanting to leave the humans of their city in danger, and knowing that no matter where they went Gwi-Ma would find them, they tried coming up with a plan to defeat him
However, Rumi’s father knew that this was practically impossible, and decided to face the overlord alone
He quietly said goodbye to his family, leaving them in the middle of the night
Ryu knew exactly why he had gone when she realised he was missing, not knowing how to go after him while also protecting Rumi
Eventually, she’d run into Celine who had heard about the concentrated number of demons in the area
Seeing Rumi with her demon markings, everything clicked into place and Celine was horrified
Instead of explaining herself, Ryu pleaded with her to understand that Rumi was still her daughter
This managed to convince Celine to take care of the child while Ryu went to go look for her husband
I believe they would only reunite at the final battle, with demons trying to drag her husband back to the demon world
In the process, civilians were being killed as well, Gwi-Ma managing to slowly make his way topside because of the influx of souls
Here Ryu would do her best to protect everyone while saving her husband, the two of them reuniting amidst all the chaos
This would catch Gwi-Ma’s attention, with him directing all his resources towards capturing the hunter and her demon husband
The pair would manoeuvre around the city, trying to draw the mob away from the public
In the end though, they knew what they had to do
Charging to Gwi-Ma, they lured all of the demons back into his flames in an attempt to push him back in the underworld
This worked, however, at the cost of Ryu and her husband’s life
Celine witnessed the carnage, unable to stop Ryu’s sacrifice since she was taking care of Rumi and trying to direct all the civilians to safety
Celine blamed Ryu’s demon husband on all this, vowing to never let another corrupt those she loved
Therefore, despite being half demon herself, she raised Rumi to hide and despise her demon side
do you think Ryu from street fighter would be into cunnilingus
ohhh i think he’d be so good at eating you out that it’d actually blow your fucking mind, because when did he learn to do . . that? everyone knows that when ryu commits himself to honing a skill, he’ll never shy away. not from fighting, not from training, and certainly not from this. not until he’s perfected it. in this case, he needs to be able to make that tongue move so good it has you cryin’!
ryu isn’t a man of many words, but when it comes to you, he finds himself speaking in touch instead of language.
and yes— he’ll worship between your thighs like it’s another discipline, another path toward mastery. he’s all slow and reverent at first; tongue languidly dragging up the center before he delves into your cunt and tastes of you.
ryu’s slurping essence straight from out your leaking core, suckling harder just to hear you scream. he’s making a wet sloppy mess out of the both of you, juices trailing down the defined edge of his moving jaw.
he only ever gets rough when you try to squirm away from how overwhelming it feels, with his warm, rough hands grip at your sides; then there’s the way he latches onto your clit with suctioned lips, now in favor of pressing tight circles into the pulse of it with his thick, calloused thumb.
he lifts his head just a bit, looks over the mounds of your bare breasts to catch sight of your blissed expression. you hum at him, carding your fingers through the dark tresses of his low cut.
that’s when he slips off his iconic red headband— fingers deft, eyes dark with a hunger he never shows in a fight, and loops it around your wrists, binding you in crimson. it isn’t harsh, just firm. your eyes widen for a moment before lust slips in, sudden and unmistakable.
“ryu? what are y—”
“it’s only to keep you safe,” he says, kissing your bound fingers. the cloth is warm from his skin. “you’re shaking too much.”
and the way he holds you there, tied gently with the same cloth that’s soaked in years of discipline, sweat, and spirit; makes every lick from his warm lashing tongue feel like pure devotion.
“stay still,” he murmurs, voice low enough to vibrate against you. your hips jerk, grinding against his face. “let me . . . finish you.”
he gives you a slow, lingering stare before bowing his head again, hands kneading into your thighs, strong forearms hooked beneath them, his mouth working you in hungry, deliberate drags.
ryu chuckles when you begin to shake, his laugh slightly prideful against your soaked folds. the warm sound shoots vibrations through you.
instead of easing up, he doubles down. keeps you open for him, determined to feel every shiver he pulls from you.
in this moment, it feels like you’re the only thing ryu would ever surrender to.
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Wait hi i saw u write for SF6, can i have Ryu x gn!reader? It can be short, but just some fluff pls? Thanks!
RUCKOOOS' NOTES: MY FIRST STREET FIGTHTER ASK???-?&÷>#[MEISIDHOWJSJWIEJEIOW. This fic has such a fucking corny title I'm so sorry but I'm too uncreative to think about anything else
CONTENT: awkward and soft Ryu. Domestic fluff. Medium length hc's. He accidentally bruises Y/N so there's that.
CW: This fic is also probably ooc. This is my blog leave me alone 😭 I wanna be happy in my delusional world
Ryu Are My Sunshine
Sf6!Ryu x gn!reader MEGA HC
so you're got with the autistic, aro-ace dilf, despite all the celibate odds, you finally bagged him. Congrats!!!!
This man is more familiar with knuckles than he is with palms, so at the very beginning of your guys' relationship, it was kinda rocky and awkward.
after a whole life of dedicating himself to self-control and martial arts, you just felt like you were a breath of fresh air. Him letting loose with you didn't feel like a betrayal to his beliefs or vows, you felt like a pocket of air in the dark, dark waters.
He loves you dearly, more than martial arts tho? Hmmmm tbh I can't make up my mind. He loves you both dearly, then.
Surprisingly understanding! You would think that the man who's only interaction with people mainly consisted with them beating him to the ground (and vice versa), would know not a single thing about love ---but no!
IF he's understanding and loving and mature, why was the relationship awkward? Well, dear friend, it's because he's going based off of pure intuition.
Sometimes he'd seek advice from Ken or other acquaintances, but he never felt it to be right. He was constantly questioning himself, doubting and worrying about you and himself; it was a completely different field than he's familiar with.
But since it was for you, he was determined to figure it out. (awww)
It's probably the constant meditation that he does, but he seems to eerily know everything there is to know. Either it's his pure intuition honed by decades of practice, or he really loves you that much.
let's say, for example, you aren't really a huge fan of words of affirmation (me fr). As a man who is, whom I believe to be, physical-touch averse, words of affirmation were kinda his only way to convey support. It kinda made him feel like he couldn't show he loved you at all.
But since he loves you more than he's ever loved anybody before, he'd figure it out pretty quickly. He'd probably deduce that you've had a bad history of trust and people lying, and he'd immediately switch his gears and change his ways for you.
"I see... what must I do for you then? Would it be better if I offer my presence? Or should I bring you something that you'd like?"
Mature as hell. Responsible as hell. It's honestly whiplash-inducing the way he always just... gets you.
If you two have an argument- ykw scratch that you two will never have an argument, you'll have a clash of ideas. An argument entails a typically heated exchange of differing ideas; well lucky for you, this man is never heated at all.
If you were feeling uncomfortable with something he did/does, he wouldn't try to defend himself and believe you were overreacting. He would immediately try to understand why it made you uncomfortable, then change his ways with celerity.
If you were truly angry at him for something that happened, I genuinely do not feel like he would burst right back. He'd just stay there, not interrupting or jabbing in to defend himself. Ryu's first instinct is to always understand your side first.
When you're done, he'd apologize profusely and humbly for whatever made you upset, then explaining his side of the story and why it happened, then closing off the altercation with a vow to not do it again.
If you were extra mad and fuming that day, he'd take it a step further and hold your face in between his hands, and press his forehead against yours. Ryu won't say anything, just silence, like the thoughts would leave his mind and travel into your skull through the connection, his sincerity entering your mind.
Might allow you to hug for a while if you're still a bit shaken.
But if the argument was truly truly bad (which I doubt he would ever let happen, but hey there's a first for everything), I do think he'd raise his voice slightly.
If you were altercating about something serious, so serious that he actually did feel like he had to quickly explain himself, he'd interrupt you sharply. His voice would be above his usual monotone, gentle tone and escalate to a firm, loud, but still kinda gentle, voice.
"I am so sick and tired everytime I try to t--" "That is not what happened, Y/N."
It stunned you, honestly. It was not a threatening tone in the slightest, but it had a force that just made you lose your voice
Yeah you two would have somewhat of an argument once every rainbow moon, but would hRyu ever physically touch you? Never. Never never never never never never never.
Even in his most deluded, most outraged, most delirious state of mind, it is in Ryu's coding to never lay a finger on you with the intent of malice. Literally never.
he knows his strength, he knows his power, he knows what he's capable of. Ryu would never in his life move to harm you, physically or verbally or psychologically, never.
But has he ever let some anger leak out? For the sake of angst, I'll say yes.
The first time, you guys were altercating about how you were feeling like he wasn't paying as much mind to you as you wanted him to. He felt offended because Ryu loves you more than the world, therefore it kind of felt impossible that he wasn't giving you attention.
One thing led to another and he gently (or so he thought) but his hands on your shoulders as a way to symbolize that he wanted you to truly hear him out and take his words to heart.
under the pressure of defending himself, he didn't realize the amount of force he was putting in his fingers, and it only snapped Ryu back to reality when he saw you wince, the flesh on your arm turning a light shade of purple.
His heart shattered immediately. he forgot everything he was thinking, saying, doing, letting go of you instantly and just staring in horror at what his fingers did.
He was convinced that he had abused you, and got on his knees apologizing. You could hear in the stumble of his usually collected voice that he was starting to cry.
You both instantly forgot about the argument, and you had to convince him that it wasn't that bad at all, it was just a bit of pressure that made the skin redder than it actually was.
But he wasn't listening. he had to resign himself back to his sakura training grounds, taking what happened as a sign that he needed to control himself much more than he already was.
He just wanted to take care of you. (MY SHAYLAAA)
Now let's get away from the sad. Let's go to what you guys do together as lovers!
This man is trad lover 3000. Flowers every time he sees you, handpicked and arranged according to your favorite color. I don't think he'd smile often, more like a slight curl of the lips, but his eyes would be less gloomy and occupied. His eyes were... alive.
Would he spoil you? I think in moderation. Let's not forget this man has an actual property where he lives when he's not fighting, and his finances are MANAGED. This man canonically has a black card btw.
So he's not poor/struggling in the slightest, but he isn't filth rich either. I'd say he's teetering a bit higher than middle middle class.
So with that said, if you expressed that you wanted something, he'll get it for you no doubt. But he isn't sugar daddy level where you look at something and he gets ten models of it, no.
I'd imagine Ryu wouldn't want a materialistically needy partner; he'd prefer a partner who can handle themselves and their expenditures, while also leaving room for him to express his gift-giving love.
Since we all know this man isn't really into physical touch; what if his partner was?
Well, he'd tolerate it. Holding hands is already way above his comfort zone, even in private, but with you... he doesn't know why but it feels like with you, it's all alright.
So just for scale, holding hands is a huge loan for him already.
But what if you were really really really into physical touch? Like symbiotic latching creature level physical touch? Then he'd take a deep breath and take it.
If you're both lying down in bed, then he'd allow you to just snuggle up to his side and just fall asleep latched onto him. If you two are just hanging around in his or your house, I feel he'd occasionaly indulge you in a piggy back ride. Keyword: occasionally
But carrying you bridal style? Yeah I think he'd do tbh.
This is kinda off topic so I'm sorry, but you cannot look at this man's arms and tell me dead in the eyes you wouldn't want him to carry you.
ANYWAYS BACK TO THE REAL HCS :P
Does he like physical touch? Not at all. Does he like physical touch from you? yes absolutely 100% do whatever you want, he coo
BUT HE DRAWS THE LINE AT PDA. Not even hand holding is allowed outside. The most you can do is walk next to each other, even shoulder to shoulder is pushing it 😭
overall this man is the greenest of the green flags. marry him asap and give him lots of kisses and love x.
FINAL NOTES: OK damn. this was sooooooo long! i have so much more ideas for this hunk so if you want those then comment "grilled cheese" and I'll make it.
