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thekillingmoonmoon · 1 year

Note

for the mini drabble, you can be the boss by lana del rey for takeomi from tr :)

Pairing: Akashi Takeomi x Fem! Reader Warnings: NSFW, daddy kink, smoking, fingering, alcohol Length: 735 Song: You Can Be the Boss – Lana Del Rey

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You were addicted, from the whiskey burn from his lips to the musk of his cigarettes that surrounded you like a second skin, you wanted more, more, drinking him down until you were sated on his smoky aftertaste. You can’t resist, mouth open and pliant as he squeezes your cheeks to kiss you. All you can taste is poison, honey sweet and scorching as it slips down your throat. You seated yourself on his lap, your dress riding up your satin silk thighs as you straddled his legs. He smiled down at you, pulling languidly from his cigarette as you rocked your hips over his. His large warm hands gripped your waist, stilling you as he popped the cigarette free from his downturned lips and offered it to you.

You had never smoked until you met him, until he handed you a cigarette with his number scribbled along the side. You smoked it that night as you called him, leaning over the ocean of city lights on your balcony whilst he rasped sweetly in your ear, and from that day you were hooked to the sickly sweet scent of cloves and old aftershave, drinking in the scent of him whenever you could nuzzle your nose into his neck. He hums at you and your thinly veiled affections, leaning back in his chair to get a good look at your wide doe eyes and pretty pouted mouth, the corner of his mouth meeting the bottom of his scar as he smirked at you. He was dark, dangerous, a snake nestled beneath blooming flowers, his fangs dripping sweet poison that sang of saccharine daydreams. His fingers dug deep into the plush flesh of your hips, leaving dark bruises in their wake as he feels you up. “Who’s my good girl?” he cooed, a slender finger beneath your chin, tilting your face to blink blurrily at him. You peered through the smoke, staring up into the bright green gaze of his piercing eyes. “Me, daddy,” you whisper hopefully, and he runs his thumb along your bottom lip, pulling it back and releasing it with a muted pop. “Yes, and who do you belong to?” he rasped, his voice the sound of a thousand slithering serpents. “You, daddy,” you responded and he kissed you, all whiskey flavoured and burning, his tongue setting a fire as he flicked it into your mouth. You moaned around his invading tongue, feeling him fuck your mouth as his hands skimmed over your skin. Wayward hands crawled up your legs, slipping beneath the silk slip you wore to the thin lace separating your soaked cunt from his prying fingers. He slid past the hem of your underwear, running his knuckles over your sopping slit, gathering your slick and pushing his fingers deep into your plush pussy. “Daddy,” you breathe, rocking your hips onto his hand, your hands flying to his shoulders and tangling with the long hair trickling down his neck. He reached deep inside you, brushing over your pressure point over and over again until stars burst behind your eyes. You could feel your tummy tightening, your slick pooling onto his trousers below your aching cunt, nothing but the sound of your breathy whines and the thick squelch of your cunt filling the room. He kissed you again, sliding his hand up your neck until his fingers hugged your throat beneath your chin, closing off the flow of air to your lungs as he dizzied you with his tongue. Your head spun and feeling the tight tension of his fingers working your cunt open, you spiralled toward your high in a hazy daze. “You wanna cum, sweetheart? Wanna cum for Daddy?” he crowed, tightening his grip on your throat and battling the velvet clench of your cunt. You nodded tearily, barely able to speak, sputtering out a soft ‘yes, daddy’ before he rubbed his thumb over your clit. You cum in a shiver and shake of your thighs, trembling gently on his lap as he finger fucks you through your high, letting the oxygen flow freely as you gasped and panted in his arms. Before you could fully recover, he had his cock out and was sinking your clenching cunt down his hot hard length until your bare pussy touched the cold zips of his pants. “Now be a good girl and keep Daddy’s cock warm until he’s ready to fuck you.”

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I do not own Jujutsu Kaisen, or any of the related characters. Jujutsu Kaisen is created and owned by Gege Akutami. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Jujutsu Kaisen belong to Gege Akutami. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

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all images and gifs used are either from popular media or from stock photos. I do not own or take credit for any of the images, only edits

#takeomi smut #takeomi akashi smut #takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi akashi #akashi takeomi #takeomi x reader #tr takeomi #tokrev takeomi #tokyo revengers takeomi #cafe employee #cw fem! reader #cw daddy kink #killingmoonmoon tr

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

unholy: tokyo revengers

haitani ran

Pairing: Bonten! Haitani Ran x Fem! Reader Warnings: NSFW, smut, cheating, angst, toxic!Ran

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

You see the wedding ring before you really see him, noticing his Cheshire grin and the dangerously designed lines of his suit next. At first, you write him off, just another sleazebag trying to get some pussy because his wife doesn't satisfy him anymore. But when those lilac eye linger a little too long on your limbs, you know you're a butterfly trapped in a spider's web. You're caught, ensnared in his lap, grinding down on his hard on like your salary depends on it. But this dance is for free, for the next set of lingerie you'll find in your dressing room, for the bouquet of roses on your front step.

You hear who he is through hushed whispers, know who he is by the dark marks staining his throat as he gulps down his expensive liquor. And when it escalates, his ring becomes irrelevant, especially when he's got his face buried between your legs, stroking your furnace into a fire. He’s pure poison, and you swallow him down with willingness, letting him take over you body with every twitch and turn of his wayward hands. All he has to say is “come” and you’re already there, dressed in his latest gift, ready to get railed in the back of his expensive car at the end of the night. You know it isn’t love, but it’s the closest thing he can give you, especially with a pregnant wife waiting for him at home. He’s always so apologetic when he leaves, humming over your spilt tears and wet cheeks. He whispers sweet nothings as he fucks you, giving you empty promises as he coaxes you to climax. You cling on to him, his hair tangled in your sweet hands, his shirt stained by your lipstick. You try to claim him, to leave your mark on him, but his woman, his wife, she never notices. You know her, have watched her. You’ve watched her walk around her neighbourhood, swollen with the child of the man you love, greeting each and every one of her neighbours with a joyful tone. You approached her, once, to try tell her who you are, what you mean to Ran, but you lost courage halfway, only congratulating her and disappearing away. She is sweet, ripe and honey-rich. You are nothing. Nothing but a doll for Ran to play with. A doll to fuck, not love. But you love him. You tell him so. As he spills himself into your throbbing cunt, his head buried in the crook of your neck, his cum trickling down your thighs, you tell him you love him, and he only hums in reply. The next morning you’ll get a new gift, a new toy – normally with a bunch of red roses and a card marked with his name. But you’ll never get a ring, never know his true affections. But you stay, stay at his command, opening your legs for him whenever he seeks you out. Because something is better than nothing, even if you’re being torn apart.

#ran x reader #ran haitani #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani smut #haitani x reader #haitani ran #haitani smut #haitani ran x reader #fem reader cw #cheating cw #toxic cw #killingmoon n/s/f/w #killingmoonmoon tr

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

unholy: tokyo revengers

Akashi Takeomi

masterlist

Pairing: Bonten! Akashi Takeomi x Exotic Dancer! Fem! Reader Warnings: NSFW, smut, age difference, cheating, Length:

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Green green green, green as his eyes, it goes into his pocket and straight into your greedy little hands. It barely passes through the house he supposedly provides for, but how can he say no when you're riding his cock like an absolute whore in heat? All you have to do is bat those pretty lashes and pour those pretty lips and he's already falling over his feet to give you exactly what you want.

Sanzu has his drugs and his king, Takeomi has his queen - the owner of his heart despite the ring chained to his left ring finger. When you’re dancing across his lap, shimmying your ass in barely anything, glancing across your shoulder at the smouldering wilderness in his eyes, and he knows it's love, deeper than lust, despite the age difference.

He knows it when you're on your knees for him, all doe-eyed and distant, far gone as you choke around his length. you don't bat an eye when he tells you who he is, who he really is. You know his type. You know his wandering eyes and calloused hands. But somehow those rough fingers always return to you, gripping your flesh tight as he pulls you back on his cock, moaning into the back on your neck as his unspilled confession hang between the smell of sweat and sex. You don't stay for the drugs, booze, and Balenciaga, although Takeomi is eager to provide, anything to keep you curled up by his side, greeting you as he saunters into the club you work at. You, with your glittering eyes and vixen’s smile, snatching the cigarette from his mouth to leave lipstick stains on its length, blowing the smoke in his face as you straddle his lap. It always ends the same, him hiking up your dress to fuck you against the nearest surface, and leave you at the end of night, cum leaking down your thighs, watching him go home to his wife and son, his wedding ring glimmering in the neon light as he kisses your sweaty forehead in one final goodbye

You know he cares, how he wishes he could just have you, forever, for always. but he made his marital bed, and he must lie in it, even though it isn't just his son calling him Daddy in the late hours of the morning.

It isn't perfect, but what you have with him is electric, a live wire lust love, filled with sweat-soaked lies and false promises, and tender touches and lingering farewells. But you're satisfied with it, for now.

#takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi x reader #takeomi akashi #akashi takeomi #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers #cafe employee #fem reader cw #age difference cw #killingmoon n/s/f/w #cheating tw #killingmoonmoon tr

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

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six | UNDO

I didn't even see you when I liked you Now I ain't got no time Girl, I wanna see you undo it I wanna see you but you're not mine

Pairing: Toman Timeskip! Hanma Shuji x Fem! Reader / minor Kisaki x Reader Warnings: NSFW, smut, drugs, blood, violence, death, guns, sex work, “infidelity”, Reader is as off the rails as Hanma Chapter specific warnings: smut, exhibitionism, Kisaki, unprotected sex Length: 2, 5 Masterlist #TheCityAU You’d rather be anywhere else but here, dressed up and on Kisaki’s arm, especially if you could be stood beside Hanma.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“At least you clean up well,” Kisaki tsked, lighting a cig and tapping the ash onto the street. You wondered if you punched him, how long you would have until someone sent a bullet through your brain. You held back the urge, twitching your fingers at your sides, holding the fight in your fists as you bowed your head graciously. “Thank you, sir.” “You better be grateful,” Kisaki said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “If it weren’t for this idiot’s stupid fucking rule that we bring a girl along, you would be still stuck inside the brothel. " You wished. Instead, you stood just inside Kisaki’s office, bedecked in all the finery Tokyo had to offer. It had been a day since you had received Kisaki’s call. A day since you crumbled into a heap on Hanma’s bedroom floor, listening in shocked silence as you were ordered to attend one of the biggest events in high society. Hanma had held you so sweetly as you shook, trembling from fear and anger as you realised how truly trapped you were. You couldn’t remember what Hanma had said to you then, only that it was comforting, cosy, his arms encircling you and scooping you up from the floor to pull you back into bed.

Hanma had done everything – from bringing in a tailor to ensuring that every finger was adorned with jewels, Hanma had taken care of every single aspect of your appearance. You wondered for whose sake he was playing this game, his, yours or Kisaki’s. Was he just preparing a lamb for the slaughter? Dressing you up ripe and pretty just to send you to the lion’s den? Or was there something deeper in the way he languidly watched you try on a dozen different dresses, smoke spilling from his mouth as he dismissed each dress for not matching up to his standard of beauty. You had barely decided on the dress you were wearing, before Hanma had you whisked away for hair and makeup, leaving you with a nicotine kiss on the cheek, telling you he’d see you at the party.

You wished it was his office. You wished it was his carpet that you toed gingerly in your staggering heels, that it was him who stood leaning on his desk, watching you with a hunter’s honeyed gaze. Instead, cold steel eyes stared at you over the frames of his glasses, sizing you up as he pulled smoke from the cigarette in vapid waves. “Where’d you get the dress?” Kisaki gestured towards your outfit, grimacing at the bright white of the satin slip you wore. You blanched, trying to remember the name of the designer, but realised he wasn’t asking who made the dress, but who paid for it. “I used my allowance, sir,” you lied, thinking of the way Hanma had winked at you when he’d slipped his black card into your palm, murmuring its PIN in your ear before sidling away into the shadows. “Good. Now,” Kisaki straightened, “Tonight’s rules: Don’t touch me. Don’t touch anybody else. Don’t talk to me unless I talk to you. Don’t talk to anybody there. All you’re here for is to sit pretty and keep quiet, okay?”

You nodded, holding back the bite of bile in your throat. What did this man think you were? A doll? A dog? Just some brainless pet who could only understand simple instructions? You nodded again and sighed inwardly. At least you could see Hanma tonight, even if from afar. You already missed him, the taste of him on your tongue, the glimmer in his golden eyes when he smiled at you. You were addicted to him, dangerously so, and you didn’t care. So what if he sold you out to Kisaki? The time you’d spent with him had been the most fun you’d had in years. And even if it was nothing more than a fling, a sneaky ‘fuck you’ to Kisaki, it had still felt real to you, and that was all that mattered. You stared at your feet, already lost in the soft golden glow of your memories with Hanma. “Stop staring at the floor and come with me, we’re going to be late,” Kisaki spat, throwing his jacket on and stubbing his cigarette out in a bronze ashtray. He grabbed your wrist as he walked past you, dragging you along to the car that waited patiently at the doors.

…

“Don’t eat too much. Don’t drink too much. Don’t leave my sight,” Kisaki rambled on, and you wondered if you were allowed to breathe after the long list of restrictions he’d spilt over you and your white dress.

Kisaki didn’t even help you out of the car when you arrived, leaving that job to one of his many minions, who could barely keep their eyes off your figure in the soft silk dress. You placed yourself carefully at his side, cautious as you followed him into a large ballroom filled with the most dangerous people in Tokyo. You saw a few of your girls here and there, including the girl who had been bought out by Shiba so many months ago, holding her full belly and giggling at something her date said. All the girls fluttered and flashed, all shimmering and glimmering in the low lights set up around the party. This was all a show, for the men to secretly make their schemes, whilst the women tittered and preened over whose benefactor had given the most money to dress them up for the occasion. You smiled to yourself, thinking about tomorrow’s conversation and comparison back at the brothel, where each girl would tally up the money the men spent on them, stacking it up in piles and sending it home in little packets of fortune, bought with their body and beauty. You wondered who was truly being used here – the girls or the men. The men, using the socialisation of the girls to conduct their business, using their bodies as an added pleasure in this illicit life of luxury they lived, or the girls, milking these men for all their worth. And amongst them, Hanma

He stood alone, and your heart flickered. You did not know how you would feel if you saw another woman on his arm. But he stood alone, a shimmering Adonis amongst the glittering gods of crime, leaning on a high table and smoking a cigarette. Kisaki made his way over to him. “Are you out of your mind?” Kisaki snatched the cigarette from Hanma’s hands and snuffed it out. “Always, boss~” Hanma made eye contact with you and glittered, “What did I do this time?” he cooed, forked tongue slipping between his fanged teeth to taste Kisaki’s bitterness. “Where’s your date? You know that the Haitani brothers insist that everyone brings a date,” Kisaki hissed. “That’s just because they want to fuck their friends’ dates, Tetta,” He glanced at you, “and I’d be careful if I were you~” “Hah? What do you mean?” Kisaki grimaced, looking back at you and then back to Hanma. “It would be a good thing if she caught the eye of one of those fools, would take her off my hands for good,” he rolled his eyes and you caught Hanma’s fist clenching and unclenching beneath the table. You smiled at him, catching the wink he dropped and sending it back to him with a flirty giggle. Kisaki didn’t notice whatsoever and continued to talk business with Hanma until someone came to say hello. You recognised the man as Smiley, one of the other executives in Toman, and a notorious visitor at the brothel. Long fingers snaked around your arm, and golden words slithered down your spine. “Bathroom in ten minutes.”

After a litany of fake smiles and sparkling excuses, you made a break for the bathroom, bursting into the rose-dusted room with a sigh and a frown. You dumped your clutch by the sink and leaned over the basin, taking deep breaths while you fought the urge to scream. “Easy there, sweetheart,” inked hands scattered across your shoulders, trickling across your skin as Hanma leaned over you. You looked up and saw him in the mirror. “Shuji,” you breathed, and he hummed, nuzzling his face into your neck and leaving a kiss. “Hello, doll,” you turned to look up at him, leaning into his body as he pinned you between the counter and his narrow hips. He looked good, dressed in a black pinstriped suit and black shirt, short gloves covering his tattooed hands. He kissed you, tucking his one hand around your waist and the other leaning on the sink. He dragged you down into a champagne sunburst kiss, lined with cinnamon and poorly disguised lust. He kissed you hard, pushing his tongue into your mouth and moulding his lips over yours. You’re sure lipstick smeared across his entire face then, kissing off the blushed pink colour you had painted on just an hour before. “Fuck, babygirl, but you look good,” He hissed, gripping your hips and rutting up into you. “Do you feel what you do to me?” he groaned, and you could feel the throb and pulse of his erection. “And what do you want me to do about it?” you cheeked, and he bit your earlobe in response. “You’re gonna let me ruin you and that dress, sweetheart, and then you’re gonna show that uptight asshole who exactly you belong to,” before you could protest, Hanma scooped you up by the hips and dumped you on the counter, hiking your dress up over your hips and pulling your white lace panties to the side. He plunged his fingers deep into you and you arched against him as he held you close.

“Do you have any idea how fuckin’ good you look?” he spat, pumping his fingers slowly into your cunt, stretching and spreading you on his thick tattooed fingers. “You’re the one who made me look this good,” you cooed, curling into him as he pistoned into your cunt. You swung a leg up on his shoulder, digging your heel into the pinstripes. “Show me, Hanma Shuji,” you purred, “show me how much you want me,” you pressed the heel deeper, guiding Hanma onto his knees before you, his eye giggling in mirth as he sunk down. His lips found your clit with a slurp, his fingers still filling you. In and out, Hanma worked you up, lapping and sucking at the sweet slick that spilt from your pussy. You dug your fingers into his hair, both thighs were thrown over his shoulders. His other hand gripped you, sin sinking into flesh, punishment spreading your pussy for his eager tongue.

“Taste so good, sweetheart,” Hanma slurred into you, and you rolled your hips onto his face. | "That’s it, doll, fuck my face,” his forked tongue snaked between your folds, latching onto your clit and sucking hard. You were close already, tugging his face deeper into your cunt, soft ‘ah’s’ spilling from your lips as his fingers kept brushing up against your spot. “You gonna cum for me, babygirl?” Hanma groaned, feeling you clench and clamp down hard on his fingers. “Yes, yes,” you gasped, letting the pleasure wash over you as Hanma took your clit into his mouth. Your body buzzed, legs trembling around Hanma’s ears, back arching hard against the mirror behind you. You felt pleasure burst from your lower abdomen, blushing across each nerve until you burned. Hanma kept pumping his fingers into you, spreading you out through your high. Once he was sure you had come down, he stood, pulling you into a tart kiss, filled with lust and something deeper, darker.

He grabbed your hips, shuffling you off the counter and turning you around. His large hand pushed gently at your back, bending you over the counter and lifting one of your knees onto the gold-laced marble. He bunched your dress up above your waist and pulled your panties down, letting the white lace dangle over one ankle. “Fuckin’ gorgeous,” he hissed in your ear, and you could hear the click and zip of his belt and trousers coming undone. You felt the head of his cock at your entrance, and you rocked your hips back onto him. Hanma swore, obscenities spilling past his wet lips as he leaned over you, sinking himself into you. He filled you, hot and heavy and throbbing. You gripped at the sink, fingers going pale as you s0ught something to grip. Hanma grabbed your hands, lacing his fingers into yours, rocking his hips back and slowly rutting up into you. The pair of you groaned, you pushing yourself back onto him as he crowded over your body.

The pace he set was quick and deep, each thrust knocking you forward. You could feel bruises beginning to form where your knee was hiked up onto the counter, as well as where his one hand gripped your hip. The other hand stayed woven with yours, holding your hand tight with white-knuckled lust. Hanma grunted and groaned with each thrust, pouring kisses and nips over your shoulders as he pumped his cock deep inside you.

You looked up at yourself in the mirror, watching as the gold and black of Hanma’s hair spilt over your neck, how each thrust had your eyes rolling back and hips rocking back to meet him. It didn’t take long for you to rocket towards your high, your pussy clenching down hard on Hanma’s cock. “Fuck, are you close, sweetheart?” Hanma nipped your earlobe and you answered, your ‘yes’ echoing across the bathroom as the hand on your hip moved between your legs, pressing and pinching at your swollen clit. “That’s it, doll,” Hanma sunk his teeth into your shoulder, licking over the last bitemark he’d left long before. “Cum for me,” Your legs gave out beneath you, your knee buckling as waves of warm pleasure rolled over you. Every nerve in your body buzzed, electric shocks running through your arched spine, and your eyes rolled back into your skull. Hanma groaned and spilt himself inside you, filling and filling you until his white warmth leaked out your stuffed cunt.

“Fuck,” Hanma breathed into your skin, helping you down from the counter and holding you before you fell. Silence filled the bathroom, broken only by your shared panting and slurped kiss, Hanma holding you between his hips and the counter. You collapsed back into him, sweaty and sated, your arm slung loosely around his neck and threaded into his hair. Hanma leaned forward, giving you a messy kiss, his face smeared with your lust, love, and lipstick. “Say, doll,” Hanma started, “do you want to go rob a bank?”

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I do not own Tokyo Revengers, or any of the related characters. Tokyo Revengers is created and owned by Ken Wakui. This story is intended for entertainment purposes only. I am not making any profit from this story. All rights of Tokyo Revengers belong to Ken Wakui. Please do not copy, re-use, or distribute this work as your own

reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated

all images and gifs used are either from popular media or from stock photos. I do not own or take credit for any of the images, only edits

#hanma shuji x reader #hanma #hanma shuji #hanma imagine #hanma shuuji #hanma shuuji x reader #hanma x reader #hanma shuuji x you #shuji hanma #killingmoon n/s/f/w #killingmoonmoon tr

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

unholy: tokyo revengers

hanma shuji

Pairing: Time skip! Hanma Shuji x Exotic Dancer! Fem! Reader Warnings: NSFW, smut, cheating, Length: 400 +

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

He was dangerous, a serpent coiled beneath a poisonous flower, fangs dripping with luscious venom, beading along your skin in honey gold and white drops. He came in with an entourage, girls already clinging to his arms as he threw himself back on the plush black velvet. He crossed his legs, golden gaze never leaving your lithe figure as you spun around the pole. You could feel his stare, prickling along your skin as you sweated beneath the lights. And when you were called back for a dance, you knew it was him.

He was married, you could tell by the ring of white skin on his tan tattooed hands, those same hands that gripped and groped at your flesh as you gyrated your hips over his lap. You let him touch, let him slide sin and punishment past the barrier of your panties, slowly fucking yourself on his index and ring fingers with your thigh thrown over his shoulder. He watched you from below, his spare hand holding your other leg steady. You came on him with a muffled, his fingers feeling deeper than you’ve ever managed by yourself. He grinned, a joker’s smile, a sinner’s smile, tipping you onto the velvet couch to sink his hard and heavy cock into your willing cunt.

He fucked you like an animal, hips snapping and slapping into the skin of your thighs, chasing your high with the same ferocity as his own. Eventually he flipped you so that you were on top of him and he pistonned his hips up into you. There, with his hair plastered to his forehead, all gold and black, he released himself inside you, holding you hard onto him. Best pussy he’s ever had he tells you, leaving with your number scrawled into a napkin, tucked into his blazer hanging half off his shoulders. It not long after that he calls you, coming to fetch you from the club but never leaving the bathroom stall. Your moans echoed across the walls, bouncing back as you bounced on his cock, gasping and panting for air.

You didn’t care that he was married, that you weren’t the woman he went home to, he was just there for fun, and you used him just as much as he used you. You knew it was dangerous, but your coiled yourself around the serpent, letting his fangs sink deep into your venomous petals. He was addicted to you as you were to him, coming night after night, fucking you once, twice, until you were both exhausted, sweat-soaked and sexed out, leaning on the walls for support as you staggered back to where you both belonged.

#hanma shuji x reader #hanma #hanma shuji #hanma imagine #hanma shuuji #hanma shuuji x reader #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #fem reader cw #cheating tw #killingmoon n/s/f/w #killingmoonmoon tr

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

one | an encounter

don’t call it a fight when you know it’s a war

Masterlist

#TheCityAU

Your life ended the day you were sold to Toman. Your life as the eldest daughter of a Yakuza Legend ended, but you lived on, as the forgotten property of Kisaki Tetta. Forgotten, abandoned, until Hanma Shuji stumbled, bloody, beaten, and laughing, into your boring world.

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Honestly, have you seen Smiley? He’s gorgeous. I wouldn’t mind having him every day,” a girl tittered, causing the other women to hush and hum. “Yeah, but does he bring you any gifts? Koko brought me a new bag last week, all because I blew him in the car before that big meeting,” another chimed in, shaking her sparkling hands, adorned with jewels brought in as offerings by all her favourite customers. You sighed into your tea, wondering when your bedroom had become the impromptu meeting place of all the girls in the brothel. Women lay draped over every available inch of space, all bedecked in lace and frills, their tits barely covered as they spilt out over their glittering bras and dresses. “That’s just because you haven’t had Inui’s cock,” a girl spoke, “once you’ve had that, shit like jewellery and new clothes don’t matter anymore!” “Really?” came the coos and questions, long smooth legs kicking languidly in the air. To anyone who was unaware of where they were, it would be like a little girl’s sleepover, except that everyone present was well past the age of teenage innocence and naivete. The pink was still there, in all shades of neon and fuchsia, leaving your room looking like a garden of psychedelic roses.

You were just about to ask them to leave, to grant you a few hours of peace to do something besides talk about Toman’s top dogs and how they spent their lives (and their money) between your girls’ thighs. You had filing to do, and your monthly stipend was due next week. Your little sister’s school had just increased its fees, and you sighed, already preparing yourself for a month of tight budgeting and two-minute noodles. Thank God your owner was never around, you doubted you could do much besides bat your lashes before passing out from exhaustion, never mind servicing him with your body.

The door slammed open. He was huge. And bloody. His tie hung in a loose noose around his neck, his crisp white shirt stained scarlet in pretty patches down his side. His jacket was thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, equally coloured crimson by blood and lord knows what else.

“Hello ladies,” he grinned, a glob of blood still trickling down his cheek. His glasses had slid down his nose, splattered so that he couldn’t see through the lenses. His hair tumbled to one side in a cascade of black and gold curls, raked boyishly to one side and smeared with detritus. “Girls, out.” You instructed, unfolding yourself from your bed. Who was this? You cycled through the various faces you'd seen come through the brothel doors over the last six months. The women were quick to react, scuffling upwards and shuffling out the door without a word, eyes wide as they stared at the intruder. He squinted at each girl as they walked past him, ducking below his outstretched arms until you were the only one left in the room. “Where’s Kandi? You know, with a ‘K’,” he slurred slightly, and you could see that one of his eyes had begun to swell blue. You gulped. This man was dangerous. “She left, last month,” you recalled the previous owner of this room. Oh, he was just lost. Just what kind of business was Kandi running that half-beaten and bloody men came storming into her rooms after 3 in the morning? “What? Fuck, man, she had a good cunt,” he gangled over to your couch and threw himself down with a huff. You groaned inwardly, that was real suede. “She was shit with bandages, but she had cute tits,” he mumbled, “what happened to her?” he tilted his head, somehow genuinely interested. You reached under your bed and pulled out a box. “She got bought out, one of the Toman men… Shiba? I think his name was Shiba. She said she’s having his baby.” You plonked the box on the table beside your couch. “So that kid and I have the same taste in broads, who would have thought?” he murmured beneath his breath. You pulled a towel out of your cupboard.

“Get up and strip,” you instructed, missing the wide honey-eyed look he gave you. “Say that again, doll?” His voice dropped, but you held your ground. “Get up and take off your shirt, you’re staining my couch,” you commanded, looking up at him and raising your brows. Awkwardly, he stood. “Look, you ain’t exactly my type of woman, sweetheart,” he lied, looking over you, all dressed up with nowhere to go. He wondered what you wore beneath the silky satin of your bathrobe and would be sorely disappointed by the sensible cotton briefs and bralette you actually wore. “What does that have to do with the fact that you’re bleeding?” you asked, throwing the towel over the couch and tucking it in place. You turned to face the stranger and reached for his shirt. You paused, only now noticing the supple straps of his gun harness around his shoulders. You shrugged, undoing the buckle that spanned across his broad chest.

“What’s your name?” he asked, staring down at you as you calmly began to unbutton his shirt. He hissed when you pulled the sticky fabric away from his torso. “D’ya want my real name or my alias?” you answered, standing on tiptoe to shuck his harness off his shoulders along with his shirt. You dumped the fabric onto the floor in a carmine colour heap and took his harness to hang it over a chair. You quickly slipped the gun from its holster and, with the gangster looking on in shock, unloaded the bullet magnum and switched the gun back onto safety with practised ease. “Both,” he breathed, quietly watching as you moved around him. You acted calm, but he could see the slight tremor in your hands as you grabbed a dish of warm water from your bathroom with a handful of rags. You gave your name, your surname ringing distant bells in the stranger’s memory. “But they call me Princess around here,” you wet a rag and with a gentle hand on his shoulder, willed the stranger to sit on your now-protected couch.

The stranger looked you over, suddenly entranced as you knelt between his knees. There, bathed in the lilac glow of the LED lights above your bed, you truly looked like royalty. He studied the planes of your face. You seemed to glow; hair neatly pulled back from your face as you looked over his body. “You not gonna ask who I am?” he suddenly asked. You shook your head, “It’s safer if I don’t know who you are, right?” you replied. He smiled. Clever girl. “I’m Hanma Shuji, from Toman,” he waited for your response. You paused, briefly, just enough for him to notice. “The Reaper?” you clarified, and he nodded, “That’s me.” He waited for the awe, for the coos and wide-eyed stare, for the hand to make its way to the front of his pants. But instead, you just plopped a wet cloth on his skin. “Then how’d you get so beat up? Aren’t you meant to be good?” He leaned forward, into your space,

“But I am good, doll,” he whispered, his honey sweet voice dropping dark and trickling in treacle streaks over your skin. You suppressed a shiver. “Ten fuckers tried to jump me on the way over, can you believe?” he smiled, and you could see the glimmer of his teeth in the low light. You unconsciously smiled back, close-mouthed but still softly grinning at the man. “Lemme guess, they got a surprise?” “If you call a fuckin’ fist to the face a surprise, doll.” “Well, it would be if you were expecting your target to come quietly,” you shrugged. “You saying they expected me to come quietly? Me?” He giggled at you, “they must be crazy then.” “Not nearly as crazy as you,” you commented, dipping some cotton in alcohol and dabbing it on the gash between his ribs, the red spilling over the spidery script of his tattoos. He hissed in surprise. “I’m not as crazy as you are though, you should be scared of me, sweetheart,” he cooed, leaning forward to cup your jaw. He forced you to look at him, honeyed gold greeting the unwavering steel of your gaze. He smiled widely, loving the way your pupils dilated at the crazed look in his eyes. “I never claimed to be sane, Mr Hanma,” you retorted, a sly grin sliding across your face at the glimmer in his eyes. He was beautiful. Beautiful, and dangerous. He let your face go and you got back to dabbing at his wounds with the blood-soaked rags.

“I’m gonna have to sew this fucker up,” you tapped at the deep scratch across his pectoral. He looked down in confusion, giving you a puppy-like pout. “Is it that bad?” You prodded at the wound, “Yeah,” you ignored his groan of pain, “looks like someone brought a knife to your gunfight, Mr Hanma,” you commented. You got up and made your way over to your shelves. You retrieved the bottle of amber ambrosia and a glass. You opened the bottle for the first time, a naïve purchase you’d made on the off chance that your keeper ever came to give you a visit. You poured a generous two fingers of the whisky and handed it to Hanma. He gulped down half the liquid. “Twasn’t a gunfight, doll. Just a good fucking fight,” he grinned, you looked at him from the side, remembering how cold the barrel of the gun had been in your hands. Seems like he was telling the truth. “What happened to the men who attacked you?” you asked, threading a needle with surgical precision and steadying yourself against his arm before beginning the procedure.

At this point you were half in his lap, half-clambered up onto the couch, your one leg slung over his spreadeagled thigh and your full bodyweight pressed down on his chest to keep your hands static as they looped the thread through his skin. Hanma clenched his teeth, his one hand coming up behind your back to grip at the sash of your gown. His hand was huge, his palm warm and broad over the small of your back. Your breath tickled his neck, your skin so achingly close to his exposed chest. He wondered what you would feel like, what noises you would make if he closed the distance between you if you would let him take advantage of you. But you paid him no mind, biting on your lip in concentration as you began to suture up the wound.

“Why, doll? Scared I’ll get jumped the minute I leave?” He cooed, trying to get a reaction from you. You raised your brows at him. “No.” You fibbed, instead wiping away the trickle of blood spilling from the stitches, “I’m worried they might come for the girls if they know you came here,” “Oh,” the pout was almost palpable, almost. But he looked over your head taking in the open files lying around on your bed. “I thought Koko was meant to manage this place, don’t tell me he’s leaving this shit to his girls.” “I’m not one of his girls,” you said simply, “so you can rest assured, Mr Hanma, Mr Kokonoi just his hands full,” full of money and gifts for the girls you grinned to yourself, wondering how much they had managed to scam out of the man this month. “You’re not one of his girls?” Hanma raised a brow at you. You were a whore, he was sure. From the room on the top floor of the brothel to the sweet scent of sex you exuded as you sat on his lap, you were a whore. A royal whore, but a whore, nonetheless. You shook your head. “I’m ‘kept’,” you explained, tying off the end of the wound and dabbing at the seam with more alcohol. “Ah, well then, sweetheart, who’s your keeper?” Maybe he could convince them to let him have a turn with you, that or threaten them into handing you over. You shifted off his lap, leaving him suddenly cold and slightly anxious. You scrounged in the box full of bandages and medicine.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” you shot back, the name of your keeper burning bile in your throat. You swallowed down the venom you wished to spit out. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be in this situation, If it weren’t for him, you’d be happy playing house at home with your little sister, looking after your father as he lived out the last of his glory days. Instead, you were here, putting a stranger back together in your room in a brothel. You returned with a set of butterfly bandages, settling yourself over his thigh once more. You tapped Hanma’s cheek, getting him to tilt his head towards you. You got to cleaning the gash just below his eye. Up close, he was honey gold, gazing at you through half-lidded eyes, his hair swept up and back out of the way of your work. His hair looked soft despite the dye job, falling in a tumble of curls over the rim of his glasses, which you neatly removed and tucked into his open palm.

“But I do want to know, sugar,” Hanma hummed, “I wanna know who’s leaving such a tasty treat like you all alone on a Friday night,” he reached up to curl your hair back behind your ear, twitching as you dabbed a bit too hard at his wound. You raised an eyebrow at him, “I thought I wasn’t your type?” “I lied, sweetheart. It’s what I do,” he grinned, his hand finding itself softly gripping at your hip, Sin spanned over the silk of your nightgown as if he owned you. “Clearly,” you sniffed, “stay still,” you laid butterfly bandages across the gash, carefully bringing the edges of the wound together before laying down the sticky material. “Yes, ma’am,” he smiled, causing the wound to split open and you pinched his cheek. “I said, ‘stay still’,” you grumbled, readjusting the bandages once more. “Yes, yes,” he waved you off, his fingers digging deeper into the soft flesh of your hip, and he hissed through clenched teeth as you wiped the area clean with alcohol.

“Since when does a whore know first aid?” he rumbled, his hand keeping you still on his lap. You began cleaning up his other wounds. “Since she grew up putting idiot gangsters like you back together,” you retorted. “Ouch, doll, not all of us are idiots,” he sidled, his thumb now rubbing soft circles into the satin silk of the robe. You resisted the urge to melt under his touch, to melt into him, despite it being so long since anyone had touched you, let alone held you. This man was deadly, you reminded yourself. He was a snake with flowers blooming from its mouth, each thorn dripping venom despite the beauty. You knew the danger those fangs posed, and you be damned if you would willingly submit yourself to his bite. “Only idiots get this fucked,” you poked at the scratch you’d stitched back together, giving him a cheeky smile when he winced. “You should see the other guys,” Hanma bragged, “they’re not fuckin’ sitting around with pretty girls on their laps, that’s for sure,” he beamed at you, the sharp edge of his canines glinting in the lilac light spilling over the pair of you. You frowned, “And you won’t be either if you carry on with that,” you gestured to his roaming hands, immediately causing him to stop, his fingertips brushing over the top of your thighs, barely skimming beneath your robe to touch the soft skin below. He craved to grab you then, to take you, fuck whoever it was that ‘kept’ you. They clearly weren’t doing a good job, considering how neat and plain your room looked. Not a single jewel glittering in the trinket tray at your mirror, not a single scrap of silk lined the bed, leaving swathes of plain cotton to Hanma’s wandering stare.

“Fucker doesn’t ‘keep’ you very well, does he?” he commented, immediately feeling you freeze above him. You gulped. “He ‘keeps’ me alive, Mr Hanma, I think I should be grateful at least for that,” you mumbled, thinking back to the day you arrived here, the cold barrel of a gun prodding harshly at your back. You remember the scorn in your keeper’s voice, the way he kicked you to the floor in front of the new building that was to be your home. He was sickened by you, apparently, as if you’d asked to be sold off to him as his mistress in the first place. You scoffed to yourself. “I’m lucky enough to have been forgotten, Mr Hanma,” you pried yourself loose from his huge hands, sliding backwards and finding your feet. You stood holding out your hand to help him up “and I’d prefer to remain ‘forgotten’, do you understand?”

He towered above you, tall and foreboding, the shadow he cast onto you long and lean. He wrapped a single hand around your throat, Punishment loosely holding your jaw up to look into his golden eyes. Slowly, carefully, Hanma leaned down, placing a feather-light kiss upon your cheek. You flinched, unused to the ticklish sensation of his skin against yours. “But, doll, how the hell could I ever forget you?”

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

two | talk!

And I've been thinking lots about your mouth A conversation superseded by the way he talks I'd be an anchor but I'm scared you'd drown It's safer on the ground

It’s been a week since he met you, and for some reason, Hanma just can’t seem to get you out of his head

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

He couldn’t forget you. He woke with your name on his lips, his cock straining against the confines of his boxers, his eyes rolling back to the sight of you spread out on him, the feel of you on his lap. He could still feel you there, running your fingertips softly over the lines and planes of his torso, tracing the tattoos and scars that cut across his skin. He was stuck, caught in the moment right after he’d kissed your cheek, where your wide eyes stared so sweetly into his, your pupils dilated and dark against the low light of your room. You had wanted him then, he knew, remembering the heave of your chest and the way you’d licked your lips, plump and wet. But he’d left you, standing shocked in your doorway as he stumbled off, his cock aching with want and frustration. Hanma did not regret anything, as a rule, but God did he wish he’d kissed you properly then, felt your mouth against his, gasping softly as he stole the air from your lungs.

“Hanma!” The ash fell from Hanma’s cigarette, falling plonk in the middle of his paperwork. Hanma toppled back into reality with a curse, flicking the ash away and hoping to God the files didn’t get burned. “What the fuck is with you today?” Kisaki asked, adjusting his glasses, peering over the rims as his colleague shook his papers out onto the floor. “Dunno, boss ~” Hanma gave his friend his signature smile, “maybe they hit me a little too hard the other night,” he giggled, and Kisaki sighed. “They could hardly hit you harder than when your mother dropped you as a child,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose and tipping his head back. He threw himself into one of the ridiculously uncomfortable chairs opposite Hanma’s desk, watching as his friend inhaled a new cloud of smoke. “You’re getting antsy again,” Kisaki noted, causing Hanma to raise his eyebrows at him. “What d’ya mean?” “You need a fight, or a fuck, or both,” Kisaki took the cigarette Hanma offered and lit up, speaking through a thick smog of smoke. Hanma frowned. “Did you forget that those fuckers jumped me last week?” Hanma tapped the healing cut below his eye, "I’ve already had my fight, boss.” “Then go get fucked?” Kisaki spat, “You’re useless like this. It’s like taking care of a toddler on a fucking sugar rush,” he complained, “what happened to that whore you liked? Kandi? With a K?” “Shiba knocked her up,” Hanma groaned and Kisaki tsked. “Of course he did. The whore probably planned it,” he hissed. Hanma propped his head up on his hand, curiosity piqued by his friend’s vitriol. “What makes you think that?” he drawled, watching as Kisaki frowned. “Because those women would do anything to tie a man to them, especially if he has money,” he grimaced. Hanma shrugged. “I don’t see the problem. If I get pussy whenever I want, I wouldn’t mind paying extra,” he spread his hands, the gold rings on his fingers glimmering dimly in the smoky light. Kisaki scoffed, “And that’s how those bitches get you, Hanma. They get you pussy-drunk and then milk you for all you’re worth, money-hungry whores,” Kisaki’s lip lifted from his teeth in a grimace. His phone beeped. “Speak of the devil,” Kisaki cussed, squinting at his screen, he read out an obscene amount of money. Hanma blinked through the smoke at his friend. “What’s that for?” “That’s the price to keep one of those awful women,” Kisaki hissed. Hanma frowned, “But you don’t use whores?” “Did you forget that deal from last year?” “The Yakuza family? “Yeah, I ended up with their daughter ‘cos they couldn’t afford the debt. Disgusting. It was her or the youngest daughter, who isn’t even fucking fifteen yet,” Kisaki rambled on, muttering curses against the family who’d so readily sold their daughter. He spat out your surname amongst all the other obscenities, pricking Hanma’s ears up like a hungry wolf.

It was you.

Kisaki was your keeper.

He reeled. He stumbled back into the room, reality hitting him harder than a ton of bricks. How could he have missed it? Missed you? He had been there the day your destiny was dealt away by your father. He gulped, hoping that Kisaki hadn’t seen his reaction, but his friend was still caught up in his revile. He wondered if Kisaki had spent more than five minutes with you, whether he knew the soft scent of your hair, the silky smoothness of your skin, the perfect pout of your lips against his. He doubted it. Kisaki wasn’t one for frivolity, especially if that frivolity wore red lipstick and lingerie. He was caught up on that girl. Hima? Hina? Hanma didn’t care. This was perfect. You were ripe for the taking, left alone by his best friend, his boss.

And Hanma wouldn’t wait any longer

…

“I didn’t know princesses did their own shopping?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin, the discount packet of wet wipes in your hand flinging itself into your trolley. Hanma was leaning over you, having snuck up on you whilst you were doing your mental arithmetic. “Mr Hanma,” you bowed your head in greeting, suddenly wishing you’d worn more than ripped jeans and an old shirt to do your grocery shopping for the week. He looked immaculate, his suit neatly pressed into crisp white lines and pinstriped corners. His hair was clean now, raked boyishly back as he peered at you through his spectacles. He glanced over your trolley’s contents, frowning at the spare and bland items you’d loaded up for the week. “You can afford more than noodles, doll,” he commented, and you started, suddenly confused. “How do you know what I can and cannot afford?” you grimaced. Hanma gave you a sidelong grin “Since I found out who your keeper is, pretty thing.”

You froze and turned away so that Hanma couldn’t see the panic playing across your face. Shit. What had you expected? Grace from a gangster? Please. You should have known better. You gripped the handle of your trolley, ready to run away, but Hanma’s huge hand came down over your white knuckles and he leaned in. “Shush, sweetheart,” he hushed, pressing his index finger across your lips, “Kisaki doesn’t know I know you,” he cooed, crowding you between the shelves and your trolley. You let him into your space, breathing in the scent of sandalwood and gunpowder that lingered around his person. There was a whiff of cinnamon smoke on his collar you realised, and you wondered if he was a smoker. “How’d you find out?” you asked, looking up at him with wide eyes. He grinned. “He was complaining about paying for your bills, but doll” he looked at your trolley, then back to you, “it doesn’t look like you’re the one using all the money he’s giving you.” You gulped and looked down, hoping that Hanma wouldn’t see the downward twitch of your mouth. But he was quick, grabbing your jaw and lifting your head to look at him. “Does that have something to do with your sweet little sister?” his canines glimmered in the cheap fluorescence of the convenience store. How had he found you? You wondered, how had he found out about your little sister? You swallowed down the fierce fear burning in your throat and examined his face, drinking in the neat symmetry of his face, the rogue twitch of his smile, the earring dangling over his left collar. His face held no malice, no evil intent lay behind his golden glittering eyes, only mirth and something darker, deeper, but not something that meant you harm. “It’s difficult to get a good education without coughing up a small fortune,” you answered honestly, thinking of how well your sister had been doing in her prestigious new school. “So you pimp yourself out for your little sister’s school?” Hanma hummed, “Aren’t you such a good sister?”

You shook your head and sighed. “Look, Mr Hanma. There is no ‘pimping myself out’ for anyone,” you explained, “I just use Mr Kisaki’s money to pay for my sister’s school fees.” “And to buy cheap food?” Hanma gestured to the nearly empty trolley. You smiled, “No, that’s from doing Kokonoi’s books for him whilst he distracts himself with the girls,” you tilted your head to look up at him. He grinned. What a clever little thing you were. You were running a scam on not only one Toman man, but two, using their money to better your sister’s life in a deadbeat family that would rather sell their oldest daughter into sex slavery than pay off their debts. He reached up and twirled a strand of your hair around his finger.

“You’re not a Princess, are you?” he cooed, referring to your alias once more, “you’re actually a little queen,” he loved the way your skin flushed at his compliment, the heat radiating off you in waves of embarrassment and bashfulness. He liked this, the way his words affected you. You shook your head, tearing yourself away from the darkness lurking beneath the honey of his eyes.

“I need to go,” you excused yourself before you lost yourself even further in his golden gaze, but he leaned over you, pinning you to the trolley, his breath fanning over the back of your neck. “Going so soon, doll? Even after I spent all this time trying to find you?” “You looked for me?” You asked, baffled. “Of course, sweetheart. I told you that I wouldn’t fuckin’ forget you, didn’t I?” his lips drifted across the nape of your neck, setting your nerves alight.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, your knuckles pale beneath the twin symbols of sin and punishment, the black ink almost spilling over your trembling skin. You glanced up at Hanma, his golden gaze glittering at you seductively over the rims of his spectacles. “Nothing much, Princess,” he cooed, “ just a few hours of your time~” you stiffened, fighting the urge to lean back into his chest, to surround yourself in his scent, the cinnamon accent growing stronger the closer his collar got to you. “Doing what?” you raised a brow, “remember that I don’t come cheap,” you hoped your false bravado floated, but it fell flat when he leaned in, breath brushing your ear,

“Ever ridden a bike before?”

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

four | sex

And I'm not trying to stop you love If we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck She's got a boyfriend anyway

Masterlist #TheCityAU More, more, all Hanma wants is more. More of you, your smile, your laugh, your body. And he will stop at nothing until he holds the entirety of you in his hands

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

By the time you reached his apartment, half of his shirt was unbuttoned. He had you up against the door as it closed behind you, pushing your back flat to the rich wood. He kissed down your neck, cold fingers trickling beneath your shirt and over your chest. He cupped your breasts beneath the old, faded material of your tee, sucking and kissing your throat as he pressed his thigh between your legs. You whined, shivering as he pinned you by your hips, your clit catching as he pressed himself against you. You struggled with his shirt, fumbling with the buttons as he stole the breath from your lips with a kiss. Eventually, he grabbed your hands, sin and punishment coming together to tug what remained of his shirt off, buttons flying as they popped off the planes of his torso. His jacket and gun harness lay discarded in the entryway, tossed aside as soon as you had entered the apartment. He shucked his shirt off, twin snakes smiling over his pectorals as they bit into budding flowers. His tattoos were gorgeous. He was gorgeous, all honey, milk, and poison, driving you drunk on the very taste of him.

“Like what you see?” he cooed and you smiled. “I’ve already seen you shirtless, Shuji. It’s nothing new,” you teased, loving the way the corners of his mouth twitched upward into a dangerous grin. He grabbed your hand, sin sliding down the silky skin of his torso to the front of his pants. You felt him there, cupped hot and heavy in your hands, Hanma’s fingers intertwined with yours.“ This is new, though – right, doll?” you felt his cock, could feel it twitch and jolt in his tight pants, growing hardier and heavier with every passing second. You started to drop to your knees, only to have Hanma hold onto the edges of your shirt. You pulled yourself out of your shirt and threw it to the side, baring yourself as you sank to your knees in front of him. “Fuck, those tits,” Hanma cursed, long fingers coming down to snap at the black straps of your bra. You fiddled with his belt, undoing the gold buckle and tugging the tight pinstripes down his legs. You ran your hands up his thighs, raking your nails across the muscle as you hooked your fingers into the side of his briefs. He was huge, long and heavy and hanging at the weight. His cock head throbbed, and you dropped your jaw immediately to accommodate him.

The first time he thrust he nearly choked you, causing you to hit his thigh and pull his dick from your mouth, a thick strand of spit connecting it to your lips. “Hey asshole, has anyone ever told you to be nice when a lady is going down on you?” you grumbled, looking up at him as you ran your hands up and down his shaft. “Never had a lady like you – fuck!” Hanma threw his head back as you ran your tongue around his tip, gathering his salty precum up and sticking out your tongue for him to see. You closed your mouth around his cock, sinking it down your throat until it constricted in a vice-like grip. Hanma groaned, thrusting gently into your mouth. You dropped your jaw to accommodate him, sucking him each time he withdrew down your throat. His one hand wove into your hair, holding and tugging your head up and down his shaft. He leaned on the door with his other hand, twisting and groaning as you sucked him off. He was vocal, a stream of obscenities falling down over your bare back whilst you worked him over, sucking and humming around his thick cock whilst he fucked into your face. You let him take more control, his hips staggering forward with each thrust. You began to move your hand quicker, reaching up to squeeze and massage his testes and causing him to choke.

“Shit, doll!” Hanma suddenly tugged your head off his cock, “Hah – stick your tongue out for me, that’s it – hah – let me cum all over those pretty tits,” you rocked back on your toes, exposing your chest and letting your tongue loll out. Hanma came in hot white spurts across your skin, stroking his shaft as His cock twitched and spluttered in his hand. “Good fucking girl,” he pulled on your hair, yanking your head back to see his work. You grinned at him, swiping at the thick stickiness on your skin with your thumb and sucking it into your mouth. “Such a good whore,” he cooed, following your fingers with his own. He crouched down and smeared his cum over your breasts, gathering some before shoving his fingers deep down your throat. You groaned around him and he cursed. “Come with me,” He tried to pull you up, laughing as your knees gave out and you slumped back to the floor. “Don’t laugh! This is your fault,” you fake grumbled and he smiled, tucking his cock back into his pants and offering you a hand.

Eventually, eventually, he got you into his massive bedroom, all gold and white and black and beautiful. You gaped, taking in the floor-to-ceiling windows and the city skyline below. But Hanma had other ideas. He grabbed your face between his fingers and kissed you, hard. You were sure he could taste himself on your tongue, salty and sweet, but you let him dominate you, showing his own tongue halfway down your throat. “Strip for me, sweetheart,” he commanded, dropping his pants and socks to the floor. He sat on the bed, legs spread and you came to stand in between his thighs. First, you undid your jean button, undoing the zip to show off the black lace beneath. Then you turned around bending over in his face as you pulled down your jeans. Large hands came up to cup your ass, giving you a sharp slap before spinning you around to face him. You reached behind you to undo your bra, letting the ebony fabric fall forward as you exposed yourself to him. “Fuck me,” he sighed, honey-glazed eyes gazing at your body. “I’m trying,” you quipped, slinging your bra around his bare neck and climbing onto his lap. His fingers dug deep in your thighs, tugging you onto his bulge and falling back onto the bed. Before you could even breathe, he flipped you, tossing you onto your back and splaying you across the white sheets. He ran his fingers along the inside of your underwear, pulling it back and letting it snap against your skin.

“I thought I told you to ‘strip’, pretty girl,” he warned, tossing his glasses to a nightstand and settling himself between your thighs. “I thought it would be more fun if you had the honour of taking them off,” you cheeked, loving the way his eyes lit up at your boldness. “Indeed,” he agreed, “But I’m not gonna be the one touching you,” he warned. You tilted your head. “What?” “Show me how you fuck yourself, babygirl,” he cooed, picking up one of your hands and placing them over your clothed cunt. “Show me what you do when Kisaki leaves you all alone, with no one to stuff that pretty pussy,” he instructed, sneering as he placed a gentle kiss over your mouth. You shook yourself off, falling deeper and deeper beneath his gaze. You shuffled back, until your spine hit his black wooden headboard. You tugged your underwear aside.

“Alright then, Hanma Shuji~” you drew out his name, “ watch and learn.” He settled back onto his haunches, cock in hand as you gathered the sweet slick of your folds. He gave his hard-hard cock a tug, stroking it back to attention.

You ran your fingers through your folds, shuddering as you grazed past your clit. You didn’t touch yourself often, in fact, you barely had the time or the privacy to do so. Half the time you got a moment’s respite from filing and invoices and Koko, one or more of the girls would burst in, ready to complain about Smiley, or Sanzu, or one of the Toman men they had wrapped around their jewelled fingers. Often, it was just to complain that they hadn’t seen their favourite that week, and you’d patiently make them up a cup of tea and listen to them, wordlessly wishing that you never ended up like them. But you had tasted the fruit of evil, and it was the taste that currently bloomed over your tongue. Golden eyes glittered at you as you played with your pussy, punishment pulling at his cock as he huffed and groaned at the sight of you. Eventually, you pressed your fingers past the tight walls of your pussy, keening at the stretch as you cupped your breasts. You curled your fingers up inside you, close but not close enough to the point that had your cunt constricting around your fingers. You struggled, using your other fingers to push tight circles over your clit. You gasped, softly whimpering at the lack of stimulation. You had forgotten how difficult it was to make yourself cum, how difficult it was to reach any point of pleasure.

“Oh~? Is my pretty girl struggling?” Hanma cooed, and you bit your bottom lip. You refused to answer, your pride getting between your pleasure and pain. “No? You gonna cum without me then, doll?” Hanma leaned forward, sin covering the hand that circled your clit. He applied pressure over your fingers and you immediately jolted, arching your back and shuddering. “I’m not gonna beg, Shuji,” you panted, looking your partner dead in the eyes. Hanma smiled, the corner of his mouth curling upward. “I didn’t think you would, doll face,” he grabbed your hips and dragged you down the bed with a yelp. He tugged your panties down off your legs, tossing them behind you and dropping your legs off the edge of the bed. He knelt between your thighs, his hair swept back in a tangle of black and gold. He glittered at you.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart, else I’ll stop,” he pointed behind him, and you came face to face with yourself in the gilded golden frame of a mirror. It was full length, spanning the space from floor to ceiling, and you were centre stage. Hanma was kneeling before you, his crown of ebony laced gold falling from his head, a king knelt before his queen. He threw your legs over each shoulder and buried his face between your thighs. “Shu-uji,” you sighed, hot mouth hot and heady as it lapped at your cunt. He slurped loudly, suckling on your clit until your hips bucked up into his face. Sin and punishment held your hips firm, spreading your legs to expose your cunt fully to his face like a meal. And he attacked you as if he were staved, lapping and slurping loudly on your folds and fucking you with his tongue. You moaned and whimpered, already overwhelmed by the build-up of pressure in your lower abdomen.

Slowly, steadily, Hanma squelched two fingers past your tight entrance, and you keened, throwing your head back at the intense stretch he was giving your sensitive cunt. “Look at yourself, sweetheart. I don’t like to repeat myself,” Hanma warned, thrusting his fingers deep into your silken warmth, watching as you curled up around him, tears prickling at your salt-lined eyes. You blinked blearily at yourself in the mirror, watching as your fingers threaded through his hair, your own hair in disarray and your lips swollen sweet. Dried cum still covered your tits, mixed with your sweat and spit. You were a hot mess, and Hanma was determined to make you worse.

He pumped his fingers into you with startling precision, having you arch and buck against him as he stroked the spot deep inside you that your fingers could never meet. He sucked on your clit in pulses in time with his fingers, pulling and pushing you towards your first climax. You watched as you unravelled, how your hips moved on their own accord, fucking yourself onto Hanma’s tongue in time with his fingers. You were almost intoxicated, the burning between your thighs building until you felt yourself crescendo. You came with his name on your lips, arching and curling your back as strawberry sweetness burst through your body. You came hard, clenching down hard on Hanma’s fingers, which he kept thrusting into your soaked cunt. The sounds echoed around the room, your harsh pants and the obscene squelch of your pussy filling the empty air with your lust. “Good girl,” Hanma cooed, “you fucked y’self so good on my fingers,” he rose to stand between your legs. “Now let's see how good you fuck y’self on my cock.” He swung up behind you on the bed, dropping his boxers and clambering in a gangle of limbs to kneel behind you. He picked you up by your waist, lifting you until you could tuck your knees under you, and he pushed you forward onto all fours.

“That’s it,” he hissed and you reached down to spread your pussy lips for him. He cursed, once more hooking his fingers into your cunt and stretching out your tight entrance. “You sure you’re ready for me, doll?” he asked, grabbing his cock and coating it with spit and your slick. You shuddered as he rang the tip through your folds, tapping your clit before pressing his cockhead to your entrance. “Fuck me like you mean it, Hanma,” you said, shaking your ass at him and looking over your shoulder. He grinned. “Then don’t come crying to me later, sweetheart,” he said, slowly pushing his tip inside you.

You burned, that dull ache inside you smouldering into a flickering flame of sweet lust. He filled you completely, wholly, stretching you out until it felt like he had reached your chest. You gasped, tightening around him with your soft wet walls and Hanma let out a string of curses. “Fuck, babygirl, you’re so tight f’me,” he hissed, hands trembling as they took hold of your hips. His hands swallowed your flesh whole, griping and grabbing at the plushness as he slowly rocked back and out of the warm embrace of your cunt. You both groaned at the feeling, at the slow sensation of him pushing back inside you. You arched your back for your hips to meet his, and you keened as you felt him twitch deep inside of you.

“Fuck me, Shuji~” you demanded, gently rocking yourself back onto his cock, gasping as his cockhead stroked your pressure point. “As you wish, my queen,” he leaned over you and bit your earlobe, “watch y’self f’me, doll,” he added, gripping your head and turning it to watch him sink himself inside you in the mirror. You moaned, feeling him fill you as you watched. You could see his pecs, shift and shimmer in the light, their twin serpents baring their fangs and devouring the flower beneath them.

It was all golden, the feeling all over your body, each limb filled with a hot static as you arched your back and watched yourself fuck your hips back on Hanma Shuji’s cock. You buzzed, your blood humming gold, your gaze meeting his in the mirror, his enormous hands gripping and groping at every bit of your flesh. His honeyed eyes gazed half-lidded at you; his pupils were blown black by desire. He set a languid pace, leaning back and grunting every time your skin met his. His knees knocked your legs apart, lowering your cunt further onto his cock. Your pussy practically sucked at his cock, squelching and dripping as he drove his cock deeper and deeper past your folds. You felt his sweat hit your back as he crouched over you and fucked into you like an animal.

He quickened the pace, muttering obscenities into your skin as his chest brushed your back. One hand held your face toward the mirror, squishing your cheeks and pouting your lips with punishment. The other hand was on top of yours, sin weaving its fingers with yours, pressing your hands down into the mattress with each powerful thrust. “Fuck,” Hanma slurred, licking a stripe up your neck. He then threaded his arms through yours, spanning his hands across your chest and throat to pull you up with him. Sin found its home around your throat, his golden rings hard and cold against your fragile skin. Punishment gripped your hips holding you into place as he snapped his hips up into yours. You could feel your climax rocket closer, spurred on by each deep thrust, tightening the tension between your thighs again and again until you were about to burst. “’m close,” you panted glancing back at Hanma, who shoved his fingers into your mouth. “Good. Cum with me,” he commanded, his other hand snaking down to press tight circles around your clit. Immediately you felt yourself clench around him, and his soft curses in your ear told him he was close too.

And then you came, in shuddering thunderous jolts, pleasure sparking across your skin, you slick soaking Hanma’s cock as you constricted around him. He bit down on your shoulder as he spilt himself inside you, thick white warmth filling you up as you pulsed and throbbed with pleasure.

Eventually, you came down to earth, Hanma licking over where he’d bit you, nuzzling his nose deep into your neck. He held you solidly to his chest, your legs long given out from underneath you. You could feel his heart hammering against you, and it echoed the same pounding in your veins.

You were in love.

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

two | lily love

(purity, innocence, loss, grief)

part one / part two

Pairing: Akashi Takeomi x Sano! Reader

Warnings: NSFW, the older brother’s best friend trope but make it soft, discussion of virginity loss, corruption kink, size kink, smoking, soft sex, cunninglingus, one smol slap

DISCLAIMER: virginity is a stupid social construct created by men to control women. Don’t listen to anyone who says losing your virginity to a stranger/casual hook-up is a sin. They’re the sinner here, for thinking that they have any say over your body and worth as a human being. The discussion of virginity here is for the sake of fiction (fanfiction about a 2d man, for fuck’s sake) so don’t take it seriously, please.

Length: 3,9 k (guess who's back on their bullshit)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Akashi Takeomi was not a good man. He wasn’t Sano Shinichiro. He wasn’t a leader, a charmer, a saviour. Takeomi was a schemer, a shadow, a side character. He had vice thumping through his veins, fuelled by the cry of his name by a crowd. He was the moon to Shinichiro’s sun, the darkness that gave Shinichiro light. He was War where Shinichiro was Peace, the roar of battle and crack of bones that followed soft words and failed treaties. Akashi Takeomi was not a good man, and when he opened the door of his apartment to you that following Saturday afternoon, he was once again reminded of his ruinous sin. He cast heavy shadows across your sweet character, the light from his apartment spilling over his shoulders and shimmering on your skin as you stood before him. But his darkness was deeper, undivine, drowning you from head to toe.

“Hey, doll,” sin split his smile, simmering as you shyly grinned back at him. God, you were gorgeous. So sweet and lovely in a little sundress that Omi wanted to do nothing but tear off your trembling form. Or fuck you in it, hiked over your hips, the hem in your mouth, muffling the moans and murmurs of your sin. Omi clenched his jaw, the unlit cigarette in his lips twitching with his self-restraint. “Hi, Omi,” you mumbled, adjusting the small overnight bag on your shoulder. The older man noticed, tilting his head. “You gotta good alibi, little one?” he teased, but a tremor of sincerity ran beneath the sentence. He could not bear the thought of his best friend, your brother, barging in, and breaking the unholy sacrament that lay between you and Takeomi. You nodded, “I’m at a sleepover, and Emma is covering for me,” you gave a close-mouthed smile. Takeomi’s brows rose. “Emma-chan knows?” he gulped. You shook your head. “She knows I’m out seeing a boy, she doesn’t know who,” you sighed and rubbed the bridge of your nose, “she even tried to pack my bag – so if you find anything weird in there, it’s Emma, not me,” you dropped the offending bag to the floor, toeing off your sandals as Omi closed the door behind you. “Little girls aren’t meant to know this shit, right?” Omi frowned and you nodded. “Blame Gramps, he wants her to be aware, so he gave the little ones “the talk” very young.” “Did he give that little monster the talk too?” “Mikey? Yeah, although, although the little shit already knew everything. You know how Waka brags about the girls he gets,” you shrugged. Takeomi groaned, herding you to his ‘good couch’, already imagining the horrors Mikey and Baji had heard from his smooth-talking friend. “Jesus Christ, the kids are only, what, eleven? They should be playing with action figures, not learning how to fuck,” Takeomi grumbled, flopping opposite you into his other couch, the one with the suspicious stains and cigarette scorch marks. You gave Takeomi a scrutinous glance, “And what were you doing when you were eleven, Omi? Were you already a lady-killer?”

The man across from you snorted, his nose scrunching sweetly, causing your ribcage to contract. “Not a fuckin’ chance, sweetheart. Was too busy fixing up motorcycles and getting Shin out of fights for girls. Plus, you know how shit Shin is with girls. That applied to me too,” he grinned wryly, reminiscing on those high-blooded glory days. He squirmed into the pocket of his sweats, pulling out a lighter and igniting his cigarette with a soft puff.

“So,” he started. “So,” you winced, suddenly awkward despite the silent comfort that still sat between you. You gulped, “How are we going to do this?” Takeomi let a solid stream of smoke free from his mouth, hungry eyes watching his prey through the white whisps. “That’s up to you, sweetheart. Do you still want to do this? You don’t have to,” he swallowed down the acid bubbling in his throat. “We don’t have to do anything, just sit and watch a movie…” he sighed, “and then I send you home, and we can pretend that nothing ever happened.” Not likely. Not when he knew how sweet you tasted, not when he knew sacred your little pants and moans were to his desecrated ears, not when you were so close, curled up on the couch just in front of him. “Is that what you want, Omi?” you nearly stammered, biting down the black bile that rose in your throat. But you steeled yourself, ready to leave, to take your dignity and virginity with you. You glanced to the man across from you, who was pensively smoking. He doesn’t want this. You decided then and there to leave. You stood. “That’s okay, Omi,” you clawed the words from your chattering teeth, “I’m sure Waka wouldn’t mind, he doesn’t seem to care much about who he sleeps with.” You turned to leave, reaching for your night bag, arms outstretched to grasp at your last hope.

A calloused hand gripped your wrist, long lithe fingers chaining your arm to your side. Takeomi was behind you. “Wait, doll,” he hoarsely spoke, silently shadowing you with his frame, silky hair tickling the back of your neck. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he confessed, hands curling over yours, lacing his fingers to where you stretched out your hand. You wanted to turn, to look at him, but he wouldn’t let you. So, you looked down instead. “You won’t hurt me, Takeomi,” you could feel his breath hitch across your back, his cigarette long left behind in an ashtray. “I can, sweetheart. I’m,” he sighed, “I’m not a good person. And you’re, well,” he gulped, “you’re precious.” You felt the air leave your lungs in a rush. You tried to turn again, to see the truth in his wild-coloured eyes. But he wouldn’t let you. Instead, he rested his forehead on the back of your head, his breath fanning across your back. You shivered. “I want this, Omi. I want you,” you spilt your confession softly, barely audible above the sound of your breathing.

And then you were facing him. He kissed you, hard, sliding his hands up your arms to grip your shoulders. He hated this. He loved this. He hated the way you just let him have you, your mouth parting in a gentle gasp, letting him push his tongue into your mouth with ease. He loved this, the whimper you let out as he dug his fingers into your shoulders, the little hum you gave him as he spun you to sit on his couch. You plopped back into the cushions, and suddenly Takeomi was grateful for the plush cushions Senju had insisted on laying all over the place. You looked lovely, loveable, splayed out on the softness of his couch, in his house, in his arms.

He leaned over you, placing his hand just below your jaw to kiss you, his thigh coming up to part your legs. He glanced down and groaned at the sight of you, the skirt of your sundress riding up, exposing the soft expanse of your thighs, the fabric barely skimming the tops of your legs. He kissed you more, stealing the air from your lungs with each nicotine-laced kiss, the sweet scent of the cloves lingering around you in a warm hazy glow. You sighed, looping your arms around his shoulders, clutching at the loose material of his black shirt, losing yourself in the slow, sensual movement of his lips against yours, pushing at nipping at your lips until you were swollen sweet. He laid feather-soft kisses across your face. “You’re beautiful, little one,” he rasped, slipping down your body to begin kissing at your neck. His hands began to wander, slowly skimming down, squeezing and rubbing at all the silken skin he could reach. He sucked at the hollow of your collarbone. Not enough to leave a mark, but enough to make you squirm and shudder beneath him.

His hands came up to cup your breasts, pulling a startled gasp from your pretty mouth. “This okay?” he asked, careful of every noise you made. “Yes,” you breathed, “yes, Omi.” He slipped the straps of your dress from your shoulders, lifting your breasts from the dress to knead and grab at your plush tits. “Gorgeous, fuckin’ gorgeous,” he hummed, sucking at your nipple, listening to the sweet keen you made as he tugged his teeth slightly at the flesh. He began to hike up the hem of your dress, one hand wandering as the other rolled your nipple between lithe fingers.

You whimpered, closing your plush thighs around Takeomi’s hand, causing a low rumble to catch in his throat. God, you were soft. Soft, and silken, and sweet, oh so, fucking sweet. “Open up for me, babygirl. Be a good girl f’me,” Takeomi shifted back, both hands moving to spread your thighs, his fingers dipping deep into your flesh. You tried to cover your face then, bringing your hands over your eyes. Anything to avoid that glimmering glittering stare, that hunter’s gaze that fixed you from between your thighs.

A sharp sting had you flinching and pulling your hands away. Takeomi had slapped your thigh. A huge hand was quick to grip your hands and tug them over your head, pinning them to the pillowy cushions. “You will not hide from me, doll. Especially not now,” he grumbled, “Hands stay here,” he instructed, and you nodded blinkingly in response. “Atta girl,” he gave your cheek a peck before settling himself between your silky thighs. “Watch me when I make you cum, yeah?” he hummed, and you nodded. He pinched where he’d slapped you earlier, “Words, sweetheart. Use ‘em.” “Yes, Omi,” you mumbled, and he gave you a crooked smile. He shifted his eyes down to where your legs came together, and he hissed at what he saw.

White lace. White lace lay over your cunt, all neat and modest swathes of snowy softness over your hips, all tied together with a little bow just below your belly. “Fuck,” he glanced up at you, now noticing the matching bralette that he’d shucked down with your dress. “This for me, little one?” his long lithe fingers slid below the elastic of your panties, barely brushing your tummy as he ran the pads of his fingers along the hem. “Yes, Omi,” you said meekly, careful not to break free of his piercing stare, “do you like it?” you ventured. A string of curses fell from between his teeth, “Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, “ I love it,” I love you. He peppered kisses across your stomach, hooking his fingers below the hem of your underwear to pull them off. You helped him by raising your hips, missing the way Takeomi secreted away your underwear into his back pocket. Guilt tinged at the back of his mind, but he brushed it off, more focussed on what lay before him.

“Such a pretty pussy,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss your clit, his eyes never leaving yours. He couldn’t stop looking at you, gazing at each little gasp to puff past your lips, watching every twitch and flinch fall across your face. He sucked gently on your clit, carefully separating your folds to fully see your tight entrance. You tensed at the cold air hitting your cunt. “Ssh,” Takeomi hushed you, lapping over your entrance in a thick stripe of his tongue. You shivered. Forested green gazed at you as he began to eat you out, suckling and licking at your clit and occasionally dipping his tongue past the tight walls of muscles below.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he kissed your inner thigh, pausing to suck a dark mark in the inner sanctity of your thighs. He pushed a single finger into your velvet tightness, sighing as you clamped around him. You whimpered, unsure of the feeling as he scissored in a second finger. He sucked on your clit, running his tongue in gentle circles around the nerves. You shuddered, strawberry sweetness filling your body as Takeomi pressed up against your walls, each slow pump of his fingers brushing over the place that had your curling around his crooked fingers. You hummed, loosening around his digits, allowing your cunt to be stretched out by his prying fingers. You took deep breaths, filling your lungs from their furthest end to the tops of your tits, the entire time keeping contact with Takeomi’s wild green eyes. Their iridescence bewitched you, coaxing you further and further into a haze of dark green lust. You moaned, each pass of his tongue sending electric shivers down your spine, each suck of his lips twitching your legs on either side of his head. You were growing closer, a fact exacerbated by Takeomi’s thumb beginning its slow stroke over your clit after his done.

“Omi,” his name spilt out in a chartreuse sigh, your eyes barely daring to roll back before returning to his steady gaze. Takeomi worked you towards a climax, his movements languid and lazy as he tried to soothe your soaked cunt with kisses. He smiled at the desperate way you blinked back salt-shimmered tears, the sides of his mouth as crooked as his conscience, as depraved as the dark thoughts that swirled around inside his head. “You close, doll?” he asked, speeding his thumb up until your chest heaved. You nodded shakily, the words barely bumping out of your babbling lips. “Yes, c-close, close, close,” Takeomi increased pressure on your pulsing clit and you scrunched your eyes shut, “Cumming!” you keened, a myriad of strawberry suns bursting in your lower tummy, bubbling up in bright colours that set every nerve alight. You twitched and shuddered, your skin burning with every slow stroke and lap of Takeomi’s tongue over your pulsing pussy.

“Good girl,” Omi cooed, crawling up your body to kiss you, spilling your slick into your mouth with a silken gasp. He groaned, gripping your hips and flesh, his hair splashed in inky waves around your head. Eventually, he pulled back, his skin shimmering with a mixture of spit and your slick. You reached for him, even as he pulled away, tugging him back by the collar of his tee to bring your lips to his once more. Shudderingly, shakingly, Takeomi giggled you upright, holding you beneath your arms and struggling to keep you on your feet. You laughed then, letting him guide you to his bedroom and flop down on his bed beside you, your eyes meeting in a glimmering chuckle as you both looked at each other.

Silence fell over the pair of you, soft and sweet, barely brushing at the edges of your consciousness as you rolled over to face each other. You kissed, holding his jaw and humming, just enjoying the feel of his lips against yours. This was different. This was right. This was nothing like the few girls Takeomi had fumbled around with before. The way you looked at him as if he was all that mattered, as if you loved him, that was enough to throw Takeomi further into his damnation. You weren't here for the God of War, for the Black Dragons Vice, for the raw power pumping through his veins. You were there for him, for the terrible jokes he made to cheer you up, for the tag team habit of teasing your older brother, for the linked pinkies below tables and beneath sleeves.

Fuck, he loved you, and he’d be damned if you left his apartment unaware of exactly how he felt. But the same slick words that normally fell from his silver tongue, came out in clumps of sticky honey, falling clumsily over his tongue until all he could do was kiss you as if it was the last thing he’d do. Briefly, he rocked back onto the heels, pulling his tee shirt over his head. You gasped, seeing the big black dragon that swirled over his pale skin, clawing across his clavicles in thick black ink. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed, reaching out to run your fingertips along his scarred skin. “You like it, doll?’ Takeomi tilted his head, smiling inwardly as you nodded girlishly. You felt your cheeks grow warm and decided to rid yourself of your remaining clothes. You tugged your bralette and dress, Takeomi catching your hands as they tangled in the cloth above your head. He leaned in, hand holding your jaw as he dropped a deep kiss upon your parted lips. He helped you out of the crumpled clothes, giving you only a moment to answer a breathless “yes” before he had you bouncing on your back, soft against his starched sheets. You were bare before him, fully exposed for the first time. You tried to cover up yourself with your hands, but Takeomi lifted your wrists up and over your head. Then he settled himself between your legs, and you could finally see him. “Um, Omi,” you started, mouth suddenly dry. “Yes, sweetheart?” he layered his love down on you, peppering your face with soft kisses, nipping at your lip as you mumbled, “You’re, um, you’re big,” you gulped. Takeomi paused, holding himself over you with a hand beside your head. He hadn’t thought of that. “We can stop whenever you want,” he offered, but you shook your head. He nodded then, taking in the steeled expression in your eyes as his final warning. He reached across to his bedside table and pulled out a condom and lube. “No condom,” you huffed, “’m clean and on the pill,” you reassured. Takeomi frowned at you but threw the condom to one side before dolloping a generous amount of lube on his twitching cock. He breathed in. “You’re so beautiful, my love.”

And there it was, the lily-white petals of your lust, your love, and Takeomi was the one to colour you red, spilling your virginity in scarlet sighs. He entered you slowly, inch by inch, breath by breath, cradling your head into the crook of his neck as he claimed you. Your entire being burned, a red string pulled taut and then snapped as Takeomi completed you. You could feel his tip just inside your walls, throbbing hot and heavy, his hips rocking deeper with each exhale until your bodies met. Salt lined your lashes, trickling down your cheeks whilst you gasped. Takeomi let out a muffled groan into your hairline, then ran his nose along your cheekbone, pressing his forehead to yours. The hand at the back of your neck moved to gently wipe away your tears. "Hush, little one, it's okay, you're okay," he soothed, "you're doing so well for me, you're such a good girl f'me" Your heart shuddered and Takeomi felt the warm velvet of your cunt constrict at his praise. Your delicate hands murmured up his back until your palms came to rest on his shoulder blades. your chest breathed against his, and he listened to your heart thunder through his ribs. "You can move, Omi," it's barely a whisper, more of a sob, and Takeomi immediately stole your words away with a slow kiss. "Not until you're ready, sweetheart," he pulled back a bit and fighting his own need, he continued, "We can stop if you want - if you're hurting -" "No!" it poured out louder than you intended, and your scorching skin smouldered. Takeomi gave you that wide-eyed look of astonishment that you so dearly cherished, that boyish look of sheer surprise that had you stumbling for words and spitting in stutters. "No, Omi," you repeated, "feels good, um, just be slow, okay?" Those lightning eyes softened to a summer shower, and his mouth curved into a slow smile. he rained kisses onto your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and then your lips. "Of course, my doll," he gruffed, "anything for you."

And he meant it. Takeomi did not live for much. at least he did not live for himself. He lived for Shinichiro, and the dreams in those dark eyes. He lived for Waka and Benkei, for their future, their fight. He lived for his little sister, still so wide-eyed and unknowing. But mostly, in this moment, and for as long as he had held you so close to his heart, he lived for you. Your love, your smile, the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed, the way tears rolled down your cheeks as you clutched desperately onto him. He wished he could hold you forever, tuck you into the echoing hollows between his thudding heart and smoke-stained lungs, and feel you with every heave of his breath and pulse of his veins. for you to become a part of him, just as he was a part of you, tangled in your loving limbs, deep within your soft heat.

He pumped deep into you, moving as slowly as he possibly could, his green eyes never leaving your face. He watched as your brows constricted and then relaxed, your gorgeous mouth opening and closing as you panted on his cock. He spared a brief glance downwards, and groaned, entranced by where your two bodies became connected. Your tight cunt barely took him, your folds thick and puffy against the swell of his cock. And you were warm, so unbelievably warm, despite the thin sheen of sweat that graced the two of you.

He reached down and began to trace circles around your clit, feeling as your pretty pussy clenched and clamped down on him, praises spilt from his lips in poured wine. You were golden, coloured in glittering, burning light, each nerve in your body ablaze with want and wanton lust. With each thrust, each carefully spun circle around your clit, you were growing closer and closer to the edge, near enough for your spine to arch beautifully into Takeomi’s chest. “You gonna be a good girl and cum f’me, yea?” Takeomi increased the pressure on your clit. You felt fit to burst, your body filled with saccharine sweetness and tangy brightness. You came with a cry of Takeomi’s name, a sound that would haunt Takeomi for the rest of his days. Your warm walls clamped down on him, almost forcing his orgasm from him in a rush. You came in a shower of white stars, your body static and burning, filled to the brim with Takeomi’s hot seed. You were sated, lost in a soft warm haze that only had you barely registering that the sun had long sunk below the sleepy horizon. Takeomi pulled out from you with an ill-concealed groan and flopped beside you.

Carefully, quietly, Takeomi cleaned you down and tucked you beneath the covers, lighting a cigarette and sliding beside you into bed. You curled up to him, soft and content. And Takeomi knew then, as you sighed into his chest, lashes kissing soft cheeks, you’re breathing deep and gentle against him. He knew he didn't want to be just your first. He wanted to be your first, and your last, and your always But as much as he knew he wanted your always, your eternity, he couldn't, shouldn't.

Because Akashi Takeomi wasn't a good man. and you were a star he could never reach. You were leaving, living, growing into a future brighter than his dark. Who was he to keep you in his shadows, when you could outshine the sun? But he gripped you tighter, folding you closer into him, wrapping his arms around you until he could feel your heartbeat into his chest. Because Akashi Takeomi wasn't a good man, and he was selfish, and for now, he would have your brief forever

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

bedroom hymns (one)

This is as good a place to fall as any We'll build our altar here Make me your Maria I'm already on my knees

You had Jesus on your breath And I caught Him in mine Sweating out confessions The undone and the divine

PART ONE / PART TWO

Pairing: Shiba Taiju x Fem! Reader Warning: NSFW, gratuitous smut. IF YOU’RE RELIGIOUS DON’T READ THIS, religious blasphemy, religion kink, size kink, choking, blood play, knife play, glove kink, light praise and degradation, I am seriously going to hell for this, um, dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism, Catholicism but done in the worst way, marking, claiming, blood kink, pain play, fear play, if the Pope sees this, I’m sorry, oral (both M. and F. receiving)

Also, pretend that Taiju is 21 in the Black Dragons Arc because ain’t nobody that large when you’re sixteen. Length: 2,2k

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

“Taiju?” His name fell in a soft chorus of echoes through the chamber, shimmering through the streams of tinted light. The late afternoon glow filtered through the stained glass windows, casting dappled hues over the rich red wood of the pews. You peered around the side door into the church, smiling at the dark shadow at the end of the front pew. You slinked inside, ensuring that no one saw you as you entered the church. You padded down the plush red carpet of the aisle, footsteps light and lithe as you tried not to disturb your partner’s peace.

You knelt beside him, looking up in awe as the light formed a halo around his head. Red-splashed sunlight siphoned down the slope of his nose, spilling into the black cradle of his hands caught in prayer. His rosary, your gift for his 21st birthday, glittered in a kaleidoscope of shadows and scarlet, clinking as he shifted the beads through the dark leather of his gloves. Indulgent lips slid over the words to his silent pleas, his lashes long and lush over his sharp cheekbones. Eventually, the ochre embers of his eyes were on you, watching as you cycled through your quiet recital. A sacred hush filled the church, barely breaking with the silvered whispers spilling from your lips. A heavy hand landed on the back of your neck, supple sable leather fingers putting pressure on either side of your spine. You shivered, his touch already sending shocks through your skin, his stare enough to cause gooseflesh over your whole body. “You cold?” he rumbled, and you shook your head. He frowned, vein splitting his unmarred forehead, then asked, “You good, angel?” you positively hummed at the pet name, leaning into the bulk of his arm and smiling. “Just missed you,” you replied, careful to contain the burning heat beneath your cheeks, the thoughts of him blazing warm in your core.

Taiju grunted, before silently taking your hand into his. You grinned, greedy for his touch, even for the minimal taste of his hands holding yours. “You’ve been busy,” you commented, concern colouring your voice. Taiju shook his head, his mane of sapphire shimmering over his shoulders. “Koko’s got us running protection for some fuckin’ politician,” he grumbled, frown deepening and darkening. “For how long?” you inwardly steeled yourself, imagining the long nights and days before you could see him again. “At least a month,” Taiju grimaced, and you couldn’t help the furrow in your brows from forming. Taiju was quick to pick up on your dissatisfaction, his gloved hand tightening its hold on your fingers. “What’s that look for?” he barked, his voice reverberating across the arches. You huffed, hiding in the collar of your coat. “How much longer must we do this?” you finally ask, fully turning to look at him, the pair of you kneeling before the stony silence of the Mother Mary. She stared down at you in stained glass serenity, the filtered blue of her dress dancing across the statue of her son at the front of the church. Crucified, sacrificed, the Holy Son cast a shadow over you and Taiju, his arms spread out in agony.

“Do what, sweetheart?” his eyes burned you, setting each nerve alight as you gulped down your anxiety. “Hide,” you mumbled, casting your eyes to the saviour above, willing her to help you plead your case, “I’m tired, Taiju,” you sighed, letting all the air leave your lungs. Your partner growled. “Tired of what? Being mine?” his hand tightened, black leather straining over the span of his hand, your fingers crushed by the strength within his grip. “No-“ you quickly snapped, “no, Taiju. The opposite. I want to be yours… openly” you trailed off, glancing at Taiju as the gravity of your statement sunk in.

You were tired, really. Tired of sneaking into the church, tired of sneaking behind Koko’s back, tired of sneaking around like there was something abhorrent about your relationship. How long had you been like this? A year? More? Ever since you’d (literally) run into Taiju at Mass, you’d been together, jostling shoulders and scouting out the quiet corners of the church. You had never wavered, despite all that Taiju did to drive you away. His status as a gang leader, his history with his siblings, his life as a hardened criminal whose only refuge was the holy ground you currently knelt upon. Taiju had taken up such a large portion of your life, yet you could not stand by his side as his woman. Instead, you were stuck stealing kisses in the shadows, pulled apart by the echo of approaching voices before you were caught. You ached for him, the feel of his skin over yours, his breath over your empty cunt, his cock filling you until you reached a desecrated heaven designed for sinners like you. You yearned for him, for him to claim you, wholly, spiritually, sexually.

The same, well-worn words fell from Taiju’s downturned mouth. “It’s too dangerous,” he recited, and you snapped. “Not if they know I’m yours!” you whisper-spat, both hands holding desperately onto his closed fist. “Taiju,” you breathed, “you’re the most dangerous man in Shinjuku, no, Tokyo – do you really think people will come after me if they know I’m yours?” You made a good point. And Taiju couldn’t lie to himself, couldn’t tell himself that he didn’t want you wrapped around his arm at all times, perched on his lap as he listened to Koko rattle off numbers and names. He could almost imagine it now, your soft skin against the iron of his thighs, your tiny hands flush to his chest, your head tucked beneath his chin. He could almost feel you, feel your warm breath over his tattooed skin, your gentle curves curled against the harsh planes of his muscled torso. God, he loved you. He craved you. Images of you laid out beneath him, reaching for him, reaching ecstasy for him – they all flashed across his mind. Taiju shuddered and shook his head, trying to exorcise the sin staining his mind. You looked up to him, brows furrowed as you watched your partner battle his inner desires.

“You’d have to stay with me forever,” he warned, waiting for you to waver, your resolve to weaken, but you continued to stare at him, steely-eyed. “I know,” you said simply, sweetly. Taiju gulped. “And what if I can’t be there to protect you all the time? I got work to do, I can’t be with you all the fuckin’ time,” Taiju scrambled, shock registering in his chest at the strength of your will. You shook your head. “Then just make sure that even if I’m not with you, people will still know I’m yours,” you pressed your chest to his arm, looking up at him beneath long lashes. His sharp brows furrowed, wild wide eyes looking down at your glassy gaze. “What d’ya mean, sweetheart?” “Mark me, Taiju,” you breathed, voice barely above a whisper, “mark me so that the whole world knows that I’m yours.”

You grabbed his gentle fist, lifting his hand until it rested on your collarbones, naturally, his fingers formed a necklace around your throat, the soft supple leather of his fingertips barely brushing your skin. Almost instinctively, your eyelids fluttered closed, your lashes kissing your skin as you leaned into his hold. Taiju tightened his hold, thumb pressing lightly into your voice box, his own breath catching at the sight of you submitting to him. “Mark you, hah?” he spat, the rich curve of his lip curling upward, “D’ya want me to mark you like some common whore?” he cooed, catching himself before nearly kissing you, holding his breath back from your waiting lips. “No,” you mouthed, voice wavering above the weight of his hand, “mark me like I’m yours, like you own me, so that no one else can touch me,” you whispered. Taiju let out a low groan, finally letting his lips meet yours, lapping you into a kiss of teeth and tongue.

You whimpered, your bottom lip between Taiju’s teeth. He bit down, hard, until the taste of blood seeped into the mess of spit and saliva. Taiju pulled back, licking his lips of the lush red that leaked from the corner of his mouth. He suddenly stood up, staring hard down the aisle of the church, scaring away the single stray worshipper who had wandered in at the wrong time. You heard the flurry and scuffle of cloth behind you, but the hand on your jaw kept your head facing forward, your eyes level with Taiju’s thighs. Eventually, you heard the sound of a door opening and closing with a bang, leaving you and Taiju alone.

You reached for him almost instantly, small nimble fingers struggling with the thick heady leather of his belt, wrestling with the buckle until the metal broke free with a sigh. Taiju kept his hand on your jaw, holding your head in his palm. He squished your cheeks, smiling at the way your face felt around the pads of his fingers. Then you got him out, his cock long and heavy in your hands, your mouth already open to receive his tip on your tongue. He tasted of salt and sweat, his soft cock immediately twitching and pulsing in your open mouth. You twist your hand around his girth, stroking the length of him that couldn’t fit on your tongue. You suckled on his tip, your inner thighs clenching at the low groan you pulled from deep within Taiju’s chest. Taiju stepped back, leaning against the altar that lay beneath Christ’s open arms. You braced yourself on his thighs, spreading your stockinged knees to brush against the inside of his boots, your fingers digging deep into the flesh of his upper leg, barely supporting yourself against his body. You flattened your tongue, taking his cock further into his mouth, feeling him fill your mouth, thick and throbbing. You closed your mouth around him, sinking him down your throat until you choked. Immediately, gloved hands curled into your hair, holding your head to Taiju’s crotch as you gargled around his girth. You snapped the elastic of his underwear, forcing him to free you. You gasped, before swallowing him down again, the taste of your blood swirling around the salt of his pre-cum. You shifted back, spit dangling in strings from your chin as you licked down the hot vein running along his cock. Then you took him in your mouth again, taking him further until your throat constricted around his thickness. Taiju’s fingers flexed in your hair,

“Fuck,” he cursed, tossing his head back until his curls tumbled down his spine, the blue of his hair heightened by the spilling blue from the Mother Maria above, wild yellow eyes making contact with the benevolent stare of the Saviour. He groaned, fingers tight and taut in your hair. You tapped his thigh, flattening your tongue and giving him full permission to fuck your mouth.

His first thrust nearly sent you flying back, scrambling to hold onto his thighs as his hips canted forward, his cock choking you ‘til the hilt. You gagged, but gripped tight onto his belt loops, knocking yourself back onto your heels, Taiju buried himself deep in your throat with a grunt. His pace was slow, but brutal, pushing you back onto your haunches with each pump of his hips, barely giving you time to swallow down your spit before entering your mouth again. He cursed beneath his breath, filth falling from his lips as you hollowed your cheeks around his cock, sucking softly on each thrust. You were to be his undoing, his damnation, his fall from disgrace into the darkest depths of hell. You, with your red-painted mouth, leaving smears of scarlet over his flushed skin with every movement of your sinful lips. He loved you, especially like this, knocked to your knees by someone greater than your god, someone who could make you throw away your salvation just for the sake of pleasing him. You had been so sweet, so naïve, when you’d first bumped into him, a droplet of your saviour’s wine-red blood dripping from your rich lips as you’d stepped aside from your careful communion. Almost immediately, Taiju had reached to catch the errant liquid, soaking it into his sable gloves before it stained the stark white of your Sunday best. From then it had been a steady fall from innocence, from your smudged lips in shadowed alcoves to ripped shirts in confession booths, Taiju had become both your saviour and Satan, dragging you down with him to the darkest points of depravity. He was close, the hot warmth of your mouth and the long absence of your presence was enough to hurtle him toward the edge of his unbecoming.

“’m gonna cum,” Taiju grunted, tugging you tighter around his length until your nose brushed against the dark curls at the base of his cock. He came with a groan, hot white flooding your throat until you choked, swallowing down as much as you could before it leaked past your lips. Immediately you dropped your jaw, showing him that you’d taken every last drop of his holy offering, but Taiju wasn’t interested in what lay within your mouth, only what lay between your thighs.

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#taiju x reader #taiju shiba x reader #shiba taiju x reader #taiju x you #tokyo rev taiju #shiba taiju #taiju smut #tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo rev x reader #cw// fem! reader #cw// catholicism #cw// blood #cw// dom sub #cw// dark content #cafe employee #killingmoonmoon tr

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

three | woman

It all tastes the same And boy there's something different about your mouth And you try chasing dreams, man it's harder than it seems And oh, I've got a woman now

Pairing: Toman Timeskip! Hanma Shuji x Fem! Reader / minor Kisaki x Reader Warnings: NSFW, smut, drugs, blood, violence, death, guns, sex work, “infidelity”, Reader is as off the rails as Hanma Chapter specific warnings: GUN, violence, the reader being a silly goofy woman Length: 2,8 Masterlist #TheCityAU Finally, with your arms around his waist, and his bike flying through the wind, Hanma can finally figure out what it is about you that drives him so insane

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Of course, you had been on a bike before. You were a Yakuza legend’s darling daughter. You had been strapped to the back of a bike before you could even walk, going for slow joyrides around your family’s property. A property they still kept, thanks to your sacrifice.

But riding with Hanma felt different, felt more dangerous, more alive. That might have to do with the speed at which he drove, his bike ricocheting around corners at full speed whilst you hung on for dear life. He had grinned wildly when you’d agreed, happily paying for your groceries and handing them to a nearby goon to return to your rooms at the brothel. And then you were off, racing against the wind, his eyes wild behind the visor. You clung to him, your helmeted cheek leaning against his back as he sped out of the city. Your arms were slung around his waist, and Hanma worried why he had never felt happier than when you held onto him. He raced past the traffic, travelling far out of the city to where the suburbs dissolved into farmland and abandoned barns whistled in loneliness along to the wind.

He soon found his favourite track, bumping and jostling you down a dirt road until you came to what looked like a ghost town. Empty buildings watched eyelessly as he helped you off his bike, steadying you when your knees gave in beneath you. He caught you, his arms looping around your waist to hold you to his chest. “Where are we?” you looked around, peering at the silent storefronts and dusty roads. “My old town,” he grinned, lifting you and spinning you to see all around you. You looked around, taking in the air of decay and decadent rot, the hopes and dreams that swirled in the dirt at your feet. “Your old town?” you asked for clarification, standing firm as Hanma slung his elbow around your waist. He slumped into you, leaning on your shoulder and spreading his hands to take in the view. “Welcome to my humble hometown, doll, population zero,” he tucked his glasses inside his jacket pocket and stepped away from you. He bowed, holding out his hand in invitation to you. You took it, your hand small and slight in comparison to the Sin that surrounded it “Why, did you scare everyone away?” you asked, smiling at the faux shock on his face. “Me? Never? The town loved me,” he winked, leading you down the main street. “And I’m sure they loved you even more when you left,” you commented, earning yourself a soft pinch by Punishment to your cheek. “Watch your mouth, sweetheart. Else someone might shut it for you,” he warned, tugging you along and grinning when you stumbled. Suddenly you were glad for the heavy boots and breezy shirt you wore, leaving you air to breath as you trotted behind Hanma’s long sweeping strides. He led you down the main road, to an old factory warehouse on the edge of town.

“This is where we used to hang out,” he kicked open the door with his now-dusty shoe, and the door creaked on its rusty hinges. “Who’s we?” you asked, trailing behind as he lead the way inside. Sunlight filtered in through a hole in the ceiling, made when part of the roof had collapsed inward. Broken windows warped the summer glow, casting strange shadows on the bare concrete walls as you walked past. “Most of the kids my age,” he cast a glance back at you, at where your hand rested in his. You had not resisted, even when he’d wound your arms around him when you’d first sat on his bike. Instead you’d laughed at his piss-poor excuse to have you hold him, settling your hands at his jutting hipbones and squeezing him. He’d fought the urge to kiss you since then, your parted mouth an open invitation for his needy lips, needing to taste you on his tongue. But he needed to steal you away, away from the wandering eyes of his goons, away from the guard he’d noticed just outside the grocery store where he’d found you. Despite his lack of interest, Kisaki was still watching. And you knew. You had waved cheekily at your bodyguard before you’d climbed behind Hanma, your back shuffled snug against the seat and his narrow waist between your hands.

“Lemme guess, you were their leader?” you turned in his hold, spinning under his arm to get a good look at the place. Hanma gave you a Cheshire grin. “Of course, doll. What kinda guy do you take me for?” “The kind of guy who gets beaten by ten dudes and then gets blood all over my couch,” you deadpanned, and he grinned, wondering if he could wipe the pout from your lips with a kiss. You smiled though, the corners of your mouth twitching upward at the faux offense Hanma took at your suggestion. He tugged you back to him, swinging his arm over your shoulder and bringing you into his chest. You let yourself get led, leaning your head on his bicep as he kicked a couple of loose stones along the cement floors. Eventually he had you sit on an empty windowsill. He pulled off his jacket and laid it down over the cold concrete and with a little hop, he helped you up, coming to stand between your legs and lean over you with a golden grin.

“And this was my throne,” he displayed, showing you where his dogged disciples would sit below him, his canines shimmering and shining as he smiled. He pulled a flask from inside his jacket and unscrewed the lid, throwing back the golden liquid in a glance, his eyes never leaving your as he offered you the drink. You tentatively sipped at the flask, maintaining eye contact until the fire in your throat burned too bright for your eyes to stay open. You coughed and Hanma giggled, taking the flask from your lips and wiping away the stray droplet that remained with his thumb. He popped the thumb into his mouth suckling on it noisily as your eyes widened at him. God, your reactions were adorable, all doe-eyed and innocent, as if you weren’t a kept whore for one of the most dangerous men in Tokyo. He placed his hand on either side of your hips, crowding you between his shoulders as his hair flopped softly over his face. You looked up at him, at the way his chest strained beneath his white shirt, his tie tossed over his shoulder. You could trace the dark swirls of his tattoos beneath the ivory cotton, the scales and swirls faint and opaque in their loose meanderings across his skin. The soft brown leather of his gun harness lay tight across his pectorals. You lifted your hands and skimmed the leather, your fingers fluttering and barely brushing his skin beneath the layers of fabric that separated you. You pulled the gun from its harness beneath Hanma’s arm, lithe fingers running along the cold barrel and chambers as you examined the handpiece. The handle was carved, the symbol for sin deeply engraved into the stock of the gun. “It’s beautiful,” you breathed, the word rushing out in a hushed whisper that had Hanma’s hackles rising beneath his shirt. You held the gun so naturally, as if it were a part of you, as if you were a weapon. “Does the pretty girl like guns?” he asked, raising one neatly manicured eyebrow as you shrugged. “Not really,” you ran your hand down the barrel and Hanma shivered, “I just grew up with them.” Punishment closed over your hand, Hanma’s fingers interweaving with yours. “You know how to shoot, doll?” he asked and you nodded. “I can remember the basics,” you offered, and was suddenly picked up and off the windowsill. Hanma held you in his arms, spinning and shuffling you until you stood with your back to his chest, the pair of you looking out of the window over the empty car lot below. An abandoned Beetle lay at the furthest end of the lot, its tyres long gone and its paint chipped away by the gritty wind and dirty days in the sun. Hanma held the gun in your hands, long strong fingers arranging your own hands to hold the gun properly, the handle cradles in the palms of your hands. His touch was magnetising, the beat of his heart echoing across your back, the muscles of his chest rippling down your spine. Once certain that your hold on his gun was concrete, he withdrew his hands, leaving you cold and unsure.

He aimed you at the empty car at the far end of the lot, the barrel of the gun dead centre of one of the windows. “Show me how you shoot, doll,” he crooned in your ear. You shifted slightly, so that his smooth cheek was within view. You placed a cheeky peck to his cheek, cocked the gun and pulled the trigger. One, two, three! Three panes of glass shattered in the sunlight, dazzling at they splintered and scattered through the air. The gun rocked back in your hands with each shot, and you handled the kickback with ease, letting the huge gun pump your arms back. Hanma had put his hands over your ears, his honey-gold eyes melted wide with lust and wonder at how dexterously you handled the weapon. “Atta girl,” he praised, and tried to reach down for his gun. But you were quicker, and lighter on your feet as you ducked below his arms and wriggled away from him. He paused, caught with his arms empty and lips waiting. He spun around, smiling as you gave him a lazy grin and taunted him with the gun.

“Catch me if you can~” you challenged, boots already scuffing up dust as you shuffled out of reach. Hanma leaned back onto the empty window ledge, his half-lidded eyes glittering with mirth in showers of gold. His long, thick fingers came up to his throat and loosened his tie. He tugged on the silken fabric slowly, deliberately, watching as you stared at his hands. “And if I catch you, doll?” he threatened, tucked his tie in his pocket and taking a single step forward. You scuttled back, sticking out your tongue and setting off and away. “Wait and see!” you jeered back, sprinting as fast as you could, the gun clicked to safety and tucked close to your chest. You ducked and weaved about the warehouse, listening to the various curses and obscenities that spewed out of Hanma’s mouth as he chased you. You laughed, and he giggled, a high hyena’s cackle that told you he was having just as much fun being the predator as you were being the prey.

You broke out into broad daylight, finding yourself in the parking lot where you’d shattered the window of the broken down Buggy. The asphalt was covered in glass, glittering and glimmering in the late day sun. It was near dusk now, the pink haze of evening already settling in at the corners of the horizon. Hanma burst out from the open doorway with a cheer, his hands greedily reaching towards you and his gun. You held out the gun with one hand, ready for him to take it back with a smile. But instead, his lithe fingers curled around your wrist and tugged you from your feet.

You fell in his arms, his chest warm and chuckling as he hooked his arm around your waist and pulled you close. You stood as if ready to dance, two hands out holding his engraved gun, the rest of you closely intertwined in a tangle of black ripped denim and grey pinstripes. You looked up at him and smiled at the wild wolf’s grin he wore, his white teeth flashing in the low light of the day. His eyes simmered, staring at you beneath long thick lashes and lowered lids. “Caught you,” he teased and you found yourself holding onto the front of his shirt. “But what if I wanted to get caught?” you breathed, the lot suddenly silent save for the distant sound of traffic. You could hear you heart thump-thumping away at your chest, your blood rushing through your veins.

“You play a dangerous game, my queen,” Hanma warned, lifting the gun from your hands and tucking it behind his back. “If this is a game,” you started, “then you’re playing too,” you gripped both of his lapels and leaned back, pulling you down towards him. He smiled, smaller now, but the glimmer in his eyes far more deadly. “But when I play games, doll, I play to win,” he snarked, feeling you flush against him. He steadily walking you back, shuffled you until your back hit the side of the broken down car and you let out a soft gasp in surprise. Despite the afternoon sun, the metal still ran cool. You shivered, pinned between the car and Hanma’s narrow needling hips. His hands came up to your face.

“Then claim your prize,” you dared him, you dared him to kiss you, to take what he wanted from you ever since you’d sat in his lap last week, you dared him to take you, despite the danger, despite dark shadow that loomed over your freedom. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, sweetheart.” And then he kissed you.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his chest thundering beneath your palms, his hair dishevelled. “Yea,” you panted, pressing another peck to his lips, “fuck,” His hands spread downward, cupping your ass and squeezing. He stayed like that for a few moments, his head tucked into the crook of your neck, his hands wandering the expanse of their body. “Not enough,” he grumbled, suddenly standing to his full height and taking your hands. “What?” you bumbled, still slightly breathless, your chest flush to Hanma’s hard torso. Your stomach gave a twist, suddenly sure that the kiss hadn’t been as good for him as it was for you. Your whole body buzzed, a mere kiss setting you aglow to beam up at Hanma. He rumbled, reaching for your lips once more, catching you in a sloppy open-mouthed kiss that had you letting out a slight moan as he pressed you back into the car behind you.

“Not here,” he murmured, more to himself than you. He suddenly turned away from you, and grabbing your hands, dragged you down the streets behind him. You had to run to keep up, continuously stopping for him to steal the air from your lungs with his wild kisses. You got back to his bike and he halted. “This is where you tell me to stop, doll, else I’m not driving you home,” he warned. You raised a brow. “I’m surprised you’re even giving me the option to say no, Mr Hanma –“ his lips stopped you from finishing his name. “Shuji, sweetheart. You call me Shuji,” he mumbled against your lips, “and I wasn’t gonna let you stop me even if you wanted to,” he seated you onto his bike, kissing you between putting on your helmet and sliding in front of you. “Good thing I’m not stopping you,” you murmured, slinging your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back. You could feel his heart thrum at you through his shirt, his blood pumping at a fierce beat that had you biting your lips and pulling him closer. “Fuck, doll. You’re gonna be the death of me,” and he took off, long legs pushing his bike into a roar out of the ghost town, the empty stores the witness to everything. If it was possible, Hanma drove even faster back into the city as dusk fell. The sky bloomed peaches and roses, soft pink tones scattered across the clouds as the sun sunk beneath the horizon. Hanma drove you deep into the city, downtown where the skyscrapers stood encased in glass, reaching for the heavens. He drove up into a parking garage, waving at a doorman and driving into a lot with his name on it.

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thekillingmoonmoon · 2 years

Text

bedroom hymns (two)

Spilt milk tears, I did this for you Spilling over the idle, the black and the blue The sweetest submission, drinking it in The wine, the women, the bedroom hymns'

Cause this is his body, this is his love Such selfish prayers and I can't get enough

I'm not here looking for absolution Because I've found myself an old solution

PART ONE / PART TWO

Pairing: Shiba Taiju x Fem! Reader Warning: NSFW, gratuitous smut. IF YOU’RE RELIGIOUS DON’T READ THIS, religious blasphemy, religion kink, size kink, blood play, knife play, glove kink, light praise and degradation, I am seriously going to hell for this, um, dom/sub dynamics, exhibitionism, Catholicism but done in the worst way, marking, claiming, blood kink, pain play, fear play, if the Pope sees this, I’m sorry Also, pretend that Taiju is 21 in the Black Dragons Arc because ain’t nobody that large when you’re sixteen. Length: 2,2K

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Taiju overpowered you easily, wrestling you back onto the altar, scrunching up the cloth beneath you as he hurried. He needed to taste you, now. Thick fingers fumbled with your buttons, eventually tearing the fabric from your shoulders as his tongue pushed into your mouth. You let out a muffled moan, arching your back into his rough fingertips as he groped your breasts through your bra. “You wore this? To church?” Taiju spat, glancing down at the strappy black lace adorning your chest. Your cheeks grew hot, and you averted your eyes. “Filthy whore,” he cooed, leaning down to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck. The soft “ah-ah” that left your lips was all the invitation Taiju needed to travel further down your throat, leaving a trail of painful, wet marks in his wake. “My whore,” he mumbled, lifting your breast from your bra, running his teeth around your nipple. You felt a squeal well up within you, but bit it off into a whimper, shifting yourself until your legs lay on either side of Taiju’s hips. Grinning, he pressed the heel of his hand between the apex of your thighs, already familiar with the sensitive spot just below your tights. You flinched, his calloused fingers finding your nipple and twisting it whilst his other hand rubbed over your clit. Your thighs jumped, trying to close around his hand, but his hips held you open. Then Taiju reached for the hem of your skirt, flipping it up to reveal where you’d soaked through your stockings.

“Fuck, you’re wet, sweetheart,” Taiju hissed, thumb rubbing idle circles over your clothed clit, moving your drenched underwear and damp tights against your bundle of nerves, the corner of his lips twitching with each hushed cry that fell from your stifled lips. Then he ripped your stockings open. The sound of the tear startled you, as well as the sharp sting of where the tights bit into your thighs. You shot up “Taiju!,” you whispered, eye wide as he dragged you to the edge of the altar, your hips hanging loosely over the wooden ledge. Taiju dropped to his knees before you, his broad shoulders shuffled tight between your legs, his eyes burning bright and wild beneath you. “What, angel? You don’t want me to worship you?” as he spoke, he tucked your thighs over each shoulder, your legs falling limply down his back. You stared at him, jolting as he laid a long fat stripe up your thigh with his tongue, causing you to shiver. “Those were my good tights,” You whined, a small yelp escaping as Taiju flicked the soft skin of your inner thigh. “I’ll get you more, now keep quiet, unless you’d want the whole congregation to watch me fuck you stupid, huh, sweetheart?” and then his mouth was on your skin, hot and heavy, his teeth grazing the sensitive silk of your thighs, nipping and sucking. You were sure to have dark marks blooming beneath your skin tomorrow, but now all you could think of was his mouth, his sinful mouth, doing unspeakable things to your empty cunt.

Taiju tugged your panties to one side, latching his thick lips to your clit with fervour. There, with your legs flung over each shoulder, Taiju devoured you as if you were his last meal, his last confession, his final sin. His tongue slurped through your folds, gathering your slick until it fell from his mouth in strands of sticky silver, your nectar the sweet water from wine, your taste his certain salvation, desecration. Taiju became your proselyte, his lips murmuring devotions to your divinity, his soul ascending to the heaven that only you could provide. Your mind became fuzzy, arms flailing out to mimic the cross above you, clutching at the edge of the altar below your ass, body slipping as Taiju grabbed and groped you.

“God,” you huffed, blasphemous thoughts corrupting your mind, your soul, with every suck and lick of Taiju’s lips on your cunt. Then he breached your walls with a single finger, nearly causing you to cum there and then, his thick, rough, digit enough to have you clenching and clawing at the scarlet cloth beneath you. He sucked at your clit, causing a small climax to wash over you, a signal of the glory yet to come, when he would bring earth-shattering shaking to your legs, and send your soul into the abyss. As you came, he pushed another finger into your clenching cunt, stretching and scissoring you open for what was to come. You keened, your hips bucking against him involuntarily. “You greedy slut,’ he spat onto your clit, “you just can’t get enough of this, can you,” you shook your head, struggling to pull your legs from him, but a heavy hand across your hips stilled you. “Stop squirming, sweetheart,” he growled, “Else I’m not gonna let you cum again, d’ya want that?” his fingers pressed up against your walls, increasing the pressure in your pussy and making you mewl. “No, no, no, no!” you shook your head, thrashing as he began to thrust his fingers, each time making sure to hit that spot that had you squealing. “No, who?” he stilled, chuckling at the desperate way you tried to fuck yourself on his fingers. “No, sir!” you corrected yourself, moaning as his mouth returned to your cunt, sucking and licking at the sweet sticky slick that gushed around his hand. ��Good girl,” he hummed around your clit, stretching a third finger past your tight walls and sending your eyes rolling into the back of your head. “S’too much,” you whined, your fists furling and unfurling within the scarlet scrumples of the altar cloth. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” Taiju harshly asked, biting down hard at the junction of your thigh, grinning at the way you jumped at the pain. “Yes, sir!” you yelped, “please sir,” you willed yourself to relax around him, still feeling split open on his fingers. “Then you take my fingers like a good little whore, else how the fuck are you gonna take my cock?” Taiju reasoned, causing you to relax further. You scrunched your eyes closed, determined to work past the tight pain in your cunt to take his cock, to feel as full as possible. “Atta girl,” Taiju worked you open, suckling and lip-locking around your clit, each ebb and flow of his fingers finding the spot that had you clamping down on his fingers.

“You close?” Taiju rumbled, and you nodded, tears threatening to spill in saltine diamonds down your cheeks. Taiju stopped. “You’ll cum on my cock,” he ordered, lifting your legs from his shoulders and rising to his full height.

You stared at him in his full glory, glistening in the soft stained light streaming in from all sides. Taiju was your god now, all rippling muscle and shifting ink, hawk’s hunter eyes and tumbling blue locks. You reached for him, as Adam reached for God, and he leaned over the altar, catching your mouth in a bloody hissed kiss.

Then he pulled the straight-edge razor from his pocket. “You ready to become mine, angel?” he cooed, the silver blade flashing in the coloured sunlight. You gulped, “What are you going to do?” “Leave no doubt in anyone’s mind that you’re mine, sweetheart, mine to cut and mine to fuck,” Taiju growled, sending pleasant shivers down your spine. He laid the open razor beside your head so that if you turned you would be eye-to-eye with the glimmering edge. Keeping eye contact, Taiju shrugged off his jacket, revealing the acres of sweat-slick torso that you’d grown to love. You winced as he manhandled you, looping a hand around each ankle and lifting your legs to be flush against his bare skin, your feet hanging limply on either shoulder. Carefully, despite the way he tugged and pulled you around, Taiju ran his cock through your folds, covering his length in your sweet arousal, bumping your clit with the thick head of his dick. And then he was entering you, hot, throbbing and huge. You wanted to scream, feeling the delicious tightness in your lower abdomen go taut with the pressure of him, but he shoved two fingers in your mouth, stifling your scream with a choked sob.

“Hush, pretty thing, let me in,” Taiju pressed his tip past your walls, his knuckles white as he held onto your legs. You were so tight, so soft, so willing and pliable in his monstrous hands. He sunk deeper, popping his fingers from your mouth with a wet pop to lay a hand on your lower hips, pressing down where his cock formed a slight bulge in your belly. “S-so big,” you whispered, “can feel you in my tummy,” you moaned, almost feeling him at the base of your throat. Your body burned, still set alight from your near orgasm from earlier, the flame in your core stoked higher with each further press of Taiju’s cock deeper into your cunt. “Aw, is my pretty little slut’s cunt too small?” Taiju faux-cooed, “but it’s taking Sir’s cock so well.” He buried himself to the hilt, enveloped in your wet, satin warmth, drenched in your holy water. Then he reached for the knife.

He could feel you clenching around him, half in fear, half in tense excitement at what he was about to do. “Hold still, sweetheart,” he commanded, twirling the blade between his fingers before bringing the sharp edge down onto your skin. It stung, the slow drag of steel across your chest, just below your collarbones as Taiju drew his love for you in fresh blood. He made a long thin line of scarlet beads, following it with the velvet swipe of his tongue, tasting your cum and blood together in a tangy twist. Then he lay the blade to your neck, running the edge lightly over the pulsing veins that lay just beneath your skin. Your pussy pulsed around him, fully trusting him not to harm you as he carved his mark into you.

He broke the skin again, in a slow downward stroke over your sternum, forming a perfect crucifixion across your chest. He ended the cross just before your bra, lapping up your blood as it bubbled to the surface in heated crimson crystals. You felt warm, each nerve ending of your body set alight by the mixture of pleasure and pain that went pounding through your veins. Taiju wiped his hand across your chest, grinning at the scarlet smears that stained his skin. He pressed down on the intersection of the cross and kissed you as you winced. You could taste the blood on his tongue, could taste your life in his hands, and you loved him. He released you from the kiss with a groan, leaning back until the carmine-coloured string of spit between you broke.

He licked the blood off his blade before returning it to your skin, carving the kanji for his name into the soft silken skin beneath your breasts. You flinched, the narrow intricate lines bright and stinging in your consciousness as Taiju branded you.

You were his. Irrevocably. He shifted inside you, cock twitching at the sight of you splayed out beneath him, soaked in blood and sweat and you gave yourself to him completely. He tossed his knife carelessly to the side, not bothering where it plopped on the deep plush carpet around the altar. You were all he cared about, you, your blood, and your clenching hot cunt. With his back to the door, the cross inked into his muscles rippled in mockery of the cross above him, a mirror image of his mark now on your chest, right where his heart and yours collided.

He gripped your wrists and spread your arms out, letting you link your ankles behind the narrow of your back so that your hips stayed flush with his. And then he began to fuck you, stretching your body to replicate the crucifixion above you. You gasped, back arching as he drove his cock deep into your cunt, filling you with his heady girth. You grasped at the altar cloth beneath you, slick and cum staining the scarlet cloth as Taiju fucked you into it. You burned, your chest and skin stinging with each powerful thrust, blood bubbling from the open wounds as your heart thumped out of control.

You could feel yourself grow closer and closer, with each pump of Taiju’s cock you came closer to your climax, your core blazing with pressure and starbursts. “You close, angel?” Taiju asked, releasing your hands to grip your hips, pressing blossoming bruises into your skin with each impressive digit. With his thumb he began to swipe hurried circles over your clit, stoking the fires within you until you felt yourself reach climax. “Cumming!” you cried, tears spilling past your long lashes as your body went into rapture. You shuddered, each slap of Taiju’s hips to yours ringing in your ears. You were floating, white feathery stars bursting behind your eyes as you drifted down back to the heavenly hell Taiju had sent you to.

“Good girl,” Taiju huffed, spilling white into you with a low groan, filling you up with his hot seed. He fucked his cum deeper inside you, overstimulating the pair of you until you began to press wearily at his chest, maroon mutters of your praise spilling like wine from Taiju’s indulgent lips. He kissed you, pulling out to drip thick white warmth onto the cloth and carpet below. “You’re mine,” he panted, once more pressing into the white-hot lines of the mark he’d given you. “Forever,” he warned. “For always,” you promised.

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