#shizuka

Yeah, just his shitty fucking luck that he had only met you after he had already consumed that monsters blood. That he couldn’t have the chance to meet you before– he knows for sure that if he did, he wouldn’t have made the choice to turn. He’d take the chance at being normal, at being human for you.

…Nah, that would’ve probably been a shitty idea too, to be honest. He wouldn’t have been able to drag you into his world. To let you accidentally stumble upon the stuff he had to do just to get a few bills in his wallet. He wouldn’t have been able to get out of it, he knows that. He, himself, had to hunt down a few of the guys that tried. Cut out their tongues to keep them from snitching.

Yeah, maybe this is better. Maybe. Fuck if Shizuka knows, to be honest. He’s always been a bit of a dumbass, wouldn’t have ended up how he did if he wasn’t. But you’re smart. You make it up for him. Make up a lot for him.

How he ended up like this? Coming home to you? Even on his shittiest days? He still has no clue. Some type of angel must’ve taken pity on him and blessed him, that’s his only explanation. Or maybe you’re an angel, yourself. He’s not sure.

All he knows as he enters your shared house– a little thing he bought at the edge of the city, still close enough to get into town by train, but far enough you wouldn’t be disturbed by the negative energy perpetrating it– is that he can’t fucking screw it up. Can’t let you know what he is. You’re too good, too perfect to know the truth.

He throws the door closed behind himself after stepping inside, a little too loud, a little bit too unaware of his strength, but you’re used to it by now. You don’t even flinch from the kitchen– or maybe you do, he can’t see you anyway. Can only assume by the lack of a squeak from your throat, the lack of obvious surprise.

“Home.” He calls, his voice gruff, tired. But still there, still present, still your Shizuka. His body folded in half, thick fingers working to unlace his boots before he pulls them from his feet. Prepping himself to slip into the stupid fucking adorable bunny house slippers you had bought him when you two had first started dating.

‘Well if you’re going to be coming around more, you outta have a pair for my apartment, already!!’ He remembers your voice even now, a small, dumb looking smirk coming onto his lips as he takes a glance at the pair.

But suddenly, your frame is popping around the corner, allowing you to look into the entryway and he feels like his breath has been stolen from his lungs. There you are, standing in all your glory. A pair of tongs in your hand, outfit covered by an apron. A bright, automatic smile on your lips the second your eyes land on him– he feels like he’s been shot by a semi-automatic himself from the view alone. Feels like he’s looking at you for the first time, every time.

‘Mister, are you okay? You’re in an alleyway, bleeding.’ You’re saying it like it isn’t obvious. ‘I hope you don’t plan on dying, that would be pretty unfortunate. I don’t like it when my type of man dies– It would be a tragedy.’

Sure, back then, he was pretty pissed off by your presence. Who wouldn’t be? A pretty thing like you, dipping into an alleyway in the middle of a rainstorm. Talking to a half-dead looking thug like him, holding your umbrella over him like he was worth a shit. Saying utter bullshit like he was your type.

Did you have a death wish? Did you have any sense of self preservation? He still wonders that now. Wonders it as you stand in front of him with the biggest, shit eating grin.

“Welcome home, Shizuka.” You giggle, clapping the tongs in your hand, “You look awful. Still handsome, but like you just got hit by a truck–”

You pause, your eyes going wide, your voice turning down a notch, “.....did you get hit by a truck…? I don’t think my super-amazing-wonderful-best-tasting-ever health stew can help much with that………”

…Maybe you aren’t as smart as he thinks.

He raises one eyebrow, looking up at you– asking if you seriously just asked him that without saying a single thing. Your arms cross over your chest, a glare that means nothing shot in his direction. “What! My stew is awesome! But it can’t heal crap like that!!”

At that, he snorts– maybe at the inflection of your voice, maybe at the idea of your stew actually being good. Not that the latter mattered, he would eat anything as long as you made it. His head shaking just a little as he returns to full height, slips on those stupid slippers you insist he wears. “Truck didn’t hit me today, maybe tomorrow.”

“What a relief!” You smile again, throwing your hand grasping the tongs into the air. Like it’s actually a celebration to be had. Like a truck could actually kill him. “I’ll have someone to share the leftovers with!!”

He rolls his eyes, legs carrying his frame into the house. Rough palm coming to pat at your head as he passes by your frame. His tone flat as he speaks, “Sounds like you’re counting on the day it does.”

It seems the moment his palm touched your head, you were already melting. Took a long time for him to be the one to initiate physical affection, so he isn’t surprised you still bask in it whenever it’s offered. His words only processing once he withdrew, frame moving further into the house.

“H-Hey!” You argue back, trailing after his figure. “That’s not true! You just have a penchant for it!”

A little huff leaves your lungs as you walk past him, but he knows there's no real heat in the action. Nah, only time when you get mad at him is when he doesn’t take care of himself proper’. You’re just bein’ cute– your head held high as you head back to the stove, the tongs dipping into the pot on the stove stirring it around.

…Why are you stirring stew with tongs…? He doesn’t know, but it makes him want to squeeze your cheeks– either set– regardless.

“Not my fault I always end up seeing you bloody and bruised.” You grumble out, hand on your hip. Posture cocked to the side as you decidedly shoot him a look over your shoulder, “Not that I’m complaining, it’s hot.”

Unfortunately, or probably fortunately, after 4 years together you’re no longer able to cause him pause, even when you say wild shit like that. Nah, he likes it. Thinks it’s cute. Everything you do is cute.

“...You make me question your tastes.” Shizuka follows after you, not that he would rather do anything else. His large, hulking frame leaning back against the kitchen island. Only a few feet of space separating himself from you, taking you in, looking you up and down.

God, he loves you in an apron. Loves how domestic it makes him feel. How human.

“I’m a woman who knows what she likes.” You smile, cheekily. Your heels spinning around to face him, stew-covered tongs pressing into his chest getting his wife beater a little messy, “And I got exactly what I wanted!”

And just like that, you’re letting out a little tut like you actually won at something, like having him is winning at something. Spinning back around just as fast, leaving him staring at the splotch on his shirt, the hearty red-orange spot over his heart left in your place.

“Tch.” His eyes trail back up your form, stopping only for a second to stare at how your ass looks in your jeans, “You’re too fucking spoiled.”

He moves closer now, taking only a single step to have your back against his chest. His large, calloused hands automatically come up to rest on your hips like its second nature. It is, at this point in your time together. He’s always touching you– a hand on your thigh, a pat to the head. His body pressed close to yours in the dead of night, a hand casually on your tit while you watch a movie. Not in a sexual way, no. Just there, just reminding him of the beat of your heart.

He’s a very tactile man, likes to feel things in his palms. Make sure it's real. Remind him that he can be gentle if he wants. Remind him that he’s good for more than just what the boss puts him up to.

Yeah, he can be gentle if he wants.

The gasp that leaves your throat at his accusation is downright comedic– he swears you could be in a horror movie from just the sound of it alone. The way your shoulders raise up, eyes going wide as if he actually said something shocking, head tilting back against his chest to look at him proper’.

“I am not!” You whine, lips automatically in a pout. Another little glare in your eyes, attempting to will him to take it back with your mind. “I’m just… dedicated to getting what I desire!!”

Yeah, you’re right. You just get exactly what you deserve from a man like Shizuka– the kind that doesn’t know the difference between princess treatment and the basics. Thinks everything is the latter.

He only grunts, his lips coming to press a kiss to your forehead. Hands palming your hips, massaging them just a little. Watching the way your cheeks heat up at the delicate affection even after years of being together.

“That’s an easy way of calling yourself a brat.” He huffs out a breathless laugh, pulling your body closer. Making your cute little throat let out a little squeak, “At least you’re aware.”

“How– How dare you!!” You’re indigent, or at least, practically so. Cute cheeks puffy and warm, fingertips gripping the counter as if that magic little action would keep you from giving into him. “I’m so–so good! Perfectly good, the best! Actually!”

“Yeah.” He mumbles, unable to deny it. Eyes pointed, watching as he slides one of his hands down your left arm, coming to lace his fingers in with your own. Fixated on the way your fingers look tangled between his. Tongs dropped, abandoned in your stew the second he came closer and started– started making accusations at you!

“Gonna put a ring here, someday.” His voice is quiet, hardly more than an aggressive, upset sounding grunt, yet it makes your body feel warm all over regardless of how mean it might sound to others, “Soon.”

“Wh-What the hell are you–?!” Before you can finish– call him out and ask him what exactly has gotten into his thick skull, his head moves to your neck, tucking against it so easily. Needing to smell you, inhale the scent of your skin. Take in the feeling of your blood rushing through your veins.

Mouth automatically opening, too-sharp teeth he should’ve expected you to ask about long ago pressing into your skin. Not breaking it– never breaking it unless you whined and begged and asked him to– but simply savouring the feeling of something so warm between his jaws. An imprint of them left in their place, marking your flesh as his.

Reminding you that you are his. That you’re real, you want him. You need him– crave him as much as he does you.

He needs you to feel sane. To feel human. Even if he thinks you’re the strangest weirdo he’s ever laid his eyes on– that doesn’t change the fact that you were made for him. That he wants– needs– to see you walking down that aisle someday.

You know, it’s cute honestly. You’d probably get up to the stand after a beautiful procession, that gorgeous smile flashing on your face. But you wanna know the first thing you’d say to him? The thing he knows you’d whisper in his ear when no one is looking? Probably say some shit like, ‘You’re mine. I caught you. Can’t get away from me now.’

Like you were the one fucking winning in that scenario. As if.

“Shizuka” You’re whining now, canting your hips backwards just a little. Pressing your ass to the crotch of his jeans. Feeling him. Letting him feel you. Proving his fucking point, showing him already how much of a bratty, demanding little thing you are.

Gods. He’s so fucking hungry.

He raises your intertwined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the skin before dropping it entirely. Eyelids heavy, tone sounding more cold as time passes by. “What.” He says, the single word not sounding like a question in the slightest.

No, instead his frame only takes a little step back from your own. The hand once caressing your fingers now trailing down your spine. Bending you over the counter just the way he likes. Pressing into your lower back, arching it just for him. His cock going rock hard in the jeans with how easily you move for him, how pliant you are as you look at him from over your shoulder.

“What are you doing?” You sound more airy now, your eyes moving all across his face. Taking in the scene like it's the first time he’s done this– it’s not.

He rolls his eyes– as if it isn’t obvious what he needs right now. “I’m hungry.”

“D-Dinner will be ready soon.” Look at you, acting coy while you’re basically bending over and presenting yourself to him. Acting like the most perfect, innocent thing while your hips sway. Not moving an inch even as he takes another step back, observes how you look nice and splayed out for him.

“I don’t want any of your shitty stew.” The drop to his knees is slow. Eye contact not breaking for even a second the whole way down. Hands remaining on your hips, His voice letting out a loud grunt that almost sounds annoyed, impatient. His nerves not caring in the slightest about the pain in his kneecaps the drop causes– he’s hurt worse for less.

This, this is certainly worth it.

“Excuse me?!?!” He said it on purpose, to rile you up. Loving when you fight back, when you make it seem like a challenge but really, you’ll do anything. “My super-awsome-magical-healing-all-injuries-stew is–!!”

Before you know it, your jeans and panties are straining across your knees. Nothing but the feeling of his thick tongue licking a stripe up your folds causing your voice to lose its edge. It’s conviction in a matter of seconds.

“O-Oh…” That quiet little gasp is almost pathetic, adorable honestly, “I-I guess, um. Yeah, it’s shitty.”

Your arms fold over themselves in front of you, your forehead coming to rest against them as you attempt to arch your back further into where his tongue taunts you. His breath hitting your cunt every exhale he makes, yet what you truly want, need, is just a little too far away. Anywhere but it pressed against you is too far away. Bodying thinking more than your head, reacting instinctually to his touch. Wanting everything from him.

You always have been a little greedy, but that's okay. He likes that about you too.

He starts out slow, slower than he normally does. He wants to savour this– well and truly. Other times he might just bend you over, push his cock into your splayed, pretty little folds knowing you’d take him right away– you always take him right away, even if it hurts a bit at first. Only stopping his press inside when he feels himself at the hilt, only stopping then to let you adjust to his girth.

But nah, today he wants to savour this. Savour you.

It’s his lips that meet your cunt first this time. Nothing more than a peck of his thick lips against your cute little clit. His breath letting out a quiet chuckle against your sodden lips as he sees the poor little thing practically jump. Twitching from just that little bit of contact, from him.

“Eager. Thought you were playing pissed at me.” His right palm presses against your inner thigh, urging them to spread further for him, give him more room all while his eyes roll, “Further. Balance how I taught you. You’re not dumb.”

Your response is automatic. Heels of your feet shifting in either direction, a little whine leaving your lips as he neglects giving you the attention you rightfully deserve, “I-I am!”

His right hand moves up your leg, smooth delicate skin practically pulsing in his palm from anticipation alone. He can feel the rate of your heart, the way your blood moves through your skin. Imagines the creamy red that would blot against your skin if he sunk his nails in just a little bit too hard.

Nothing but a fantasy, but one he indulged in often all the same.

Warm air hits your cute little cunt when he lets out a huff. His thumb moving to one of your lips, pulling it back. Spreading you, waiting to consume you whole. Eyes focused, watching as your entrance flutters open and closed around nothing. Wanting something, fucking anything to stop the burning of unaddressed arousal in your core.

Fuck! Fuck! You really fucking wish your boyfriend had less patience. Fucking wish you worked him up to a temper instead of just playfully bantering with him. You know then he would be impatient– would just take and take and take until you were nothing but a puddle on the ground, waving your panties on a stick like they were a white flag.

“Yeah, you sure look pissed.” It's another huff against your core, another kick up of your hips against absolutely nothing.

Pink turns to red in your eyes, head lifting up. Crooning back to look at him as best you can with your cheeks puffy, eyes set into an impatient, impertinent glare, “Oh my fucking god! You’re so annoying! Just put your fucking tongue against my cunt before I have to do it–”

Shit, fucking shit. You should’ve known by that little arch in his brow when you whipped your head back that this is what he had been planning– it’s what he always does, but you always fucking forget. Are so quick to forget when your mind goes all mushy, when he finally uses that stupid fucking tongue for good use.

Another long, flat, pressing lick from your clit to your entrance has your back arching all over again. Your head returning back to your arms when he circles the entrance of your walls with his tongue. The warm, wetness of it making you forget all too quickly why you were yelling at him– how you were planning on reaching back, shoving his head against your cute little pussy and keeping him there until he made you fall apart.

Yeah, you won’t have to do any of that now. Not with how he moves his jaw.

The motions are almost lazy, yet are entirely unrelenting. Long, leisurely laps through your lips. Only pausing to suck one into his mouth for a moment before pulling away. Almost like he’s trying to make sure he cleans every last drop of your arousal from your flushed flesh, make sure he’s the only one that gets to taste it. Gets to feast.

You feel like you’re going insane. Shit, fucking shit. Normally he’s so rough, normally he manhandles you into the position he wants, normally makes you give whatever he needs— he’s greedy too, just like you. But this, this an entirely different beast. One you’re not sure if you hate or not.

Breathes coming out hot, heavy. Pants of pleasure leaving your lips whenever he presses down against your clit, whenever he just starts to stretch your entrance with the length of his tongue. Your head turned to the side, eyes just barely open as they try to identify his figure between your legs. Try to see more than just the buzz caressing the back of his head.

You want to yell at him, to ride his face properly, but he just won't let you. One hand on your spine, the other circling the puffy skin of your right lip as he holds it open, true. Leaving you on the cusp of pleasure, of almost feeling something building, yet making sure you also feel entirely unrelieved.

Fuck, you know he’s doing it on fucking purpose, too.

Because just, just when you’re on the brink of insanity, only then does he give into what you truly need. When he already has your thighs shaking from the strain of holding yourself upright, when he sees your hips bucking more and more, seeking out where you need him most, only then does he act with some benediction.

“Shizuka I swear to go–” His lips wrap around your clit, tucking the little bundle between them. Rolling it over and over with his tongue while he gives just the slightest suck. Fucking makes stars flash in the corners of your eyes.

At the same time, his thumb finally moves in close. The rest of his palm keeping you spread while the finger moves around your entrance. Circling, circling, circling the space until finally, finally, tucking itself inside. Making itself at home, finally giving your clutching heat something to wrap around. To pulse against.

God, and that your walls do. Fluttering around the invading digit, walls attempting to pull it in deeper like his thumb was just a poor replacement for his real cock. The thing that would really stretch you out like you need.

But shit, you really can’t think about his cock right now– you wish you could fixate on it instead, honest, you really do, but you can’t. Your mind is all-consumed. Brain unable to do anything but try their best to not let your knees go out from under you, to try and keep up with any single thought in your head while the physical stimulation is much more appetising to fixate on.

His blunt nails gripping into your ass, his mouth wrapped around your clit– sucking, licking, devouring your pretty little pussy like it's his last meal. His thumb not moving, save for a pressure, a stretch, against the inside of your walls that he knows you always crave. His stupid fucking little grunts, no more than huffs of air, every once and awhile when you squeeze around him, when you let out another one of your cute little sounds.

It’s too much, all of it is too much.

All of your senses feel like they’re starting to go into overdrive. The band in your lower belly pulling tighter and tighter until it’s just ready to snap. Fuck, it really fucking wants to snap.

“Shi–Shizuka…” You huff out, one arm reaching behind you, slapping against the hand on your lower back until he finally gives in– allows you to tangle his fingers in yours in an odd, misshapen lump of combined flesh. Not a proper hand hold, but it doesn’t need to be. Not as long as you’re holding him, making sure it’s him. “It’s too much– can’t! I can’t!”

Your voice is a warning for your impending end, as if he didn’t know it was coming already. Your signs are so easy to pick up on by now, but it’s cute you wanna tell him. Wanna hold his hand, be with him regardless. Reminds him in the other ways you’re so very human.

“Yeah?” He huffs, still not parting from your clit. Keeping it locked between his jaws, keeping it close like some sort of treasure. “Do it then. Show me before I figure you don’t deserve it anymore.”

The rumble of his voice right against your little bundle sends chills down your spine– the accidental brush of his teeth over the too-sensitive nerves is what finally sends you over the edge.

Your eyes clamp closed harshly, neck twisting to bury your face back into your arms. A hoarse shout of his name leaves your lips, but you can hardly hear it. No, your ears can only hear your boyfriend redouble his efforts as you fall off your peak. His thumb working in and out of your clenching, demanding folds. Tongue stopping its licking, favouring the simple, harsh press against the bundles instead.

Your hips are twitching, bucking erratically as the pleasure courses through you in waves. A waterfall you’ve fallen off the edge of, only able to hope for a safe landing amongst the tumbling waves at the bottom. But you’re not worried, no. Not in the slightest.

Shizuka would always be there to catch you, just like he will do now.

His hand, still holding your own, slowly strokes up and down your spine. Working every single shutter out of your body until you’re simply laying limp against the counter. Knees barely holding you, lungs panting as the last few crests of your orgasm flow out of you.

Only when he’s sure you’ve finished does he pull away. When he’s sure your little twitching has come to an end, when he’s sure you can take being away from him does he slowly withdraw his thumb from your cunt. The hand automatically comes to rest on your ass instead, palming it softly, another action to calm you down from your high.

Next, his head pops off from around your clit– your hips bucking at the sudden loss. Shit, that makes him smile, just a little. Really do crave him, huh?

He places a small, gentle kiss to your clit again. Watching the way your hips cant the other direction now, arching into him rather than pulling away. Even spent you’re seeking his touch, but he knows you’ll whine and complain about how overstimulated you are if he keeps trying to continue now.

He rolls his eyes once again at the mere thought, his brat. He spoils you too much, honestly.

With a huff, he rises to his feet. Eyes locked on your cunt as it clenches all the while, only moving away to look at how the fat of your ass looks– feels in his palm. Can sense the way you slowly come back to him, slowly returning from that fluffy feeling clouding your eyes.

Slowly, you raise your head up, blinking cutely– almost unaware. Attempting to gauge your surroundings as if you lost sense of them entirely. As if you lived in nothing but him in that very moment.

It’s probably one of his favourite things honestly.

Unfortunately, he’s drawn out of the moment all too fast by a gasp leaving your lips, by your form scrambling– pants still around your knees– over a few feet to the stove. Shit, he wants to laugh, really fucking wants to laught at just how stupidly cute you look. At how much you’re so, unequivocally his.

It’s dumb, honestly, how warm he feels. How human.

“No, no, no, no, no!!” You whine, hand quickly grabbing a kitchen rag, wrapping around the pair of tongs you left in the stew on accident when more pressing matters drew your attention away. An even louder whine– maybe even louder than when he was fucking you with his toungue– coming out of your lips as you lift it out. As the both of you observe the melted plastic on the end.

Huh, guess he should’ve turned that off. He was just too focused on other things.

“It’s ruined!” You return to the same position on the counter he had just had you in, though this time for entirely different reasons. Comedic despair framing your form as you bury your face in your arms, bent over the counter. One arm holding up the tongs in what can only be described as defeat.

“My stew! My amazing-wonderful-perfect-orgasm-inducing stew is ruined!! It’s gonna have all these weird– weird melty plastic bits in them!” You continue to whine, not caring about your modesty. Though, for a second you pause, and he can almost see the wheels turning in your cute little brain.

“You…” You sharply accuse, looking back to face him, a sharp glare once again in your eye, “You did this!! This is your fault!! I can’t believe you!”

And though you keep whining, keep shouting at him about having to replace your favourite cooking utensil, only 3 thoughts run in his mind. All simultaneously, all from different places.

His brain: How fucking hot did you have to have the stove to be for the plastic to melt?!

His cock: How can he get you bent over for him again all pretty– your yelling does turn him on afterall.

His heart: How fucking perfect you are. How you were made just for him. Even if his face doesn’t show it, even if he doesn’t express himself well enough, he knows. He knows you’re perfect in your apron, in your heated glare that has no true anger inside of it– only love.

Yeah, he hates his shitty fucking job. Most of his shitty fucking life. But he loves his girl. Even if you are dumb, even if you are an odd little pervert with weird tastes, he’s unable to deny how he feels about you. How he would never want to be with anyone else.

You’re his, and he’s yours.