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vampi-fixx · 2 years

Text

gnaw

bleach | izuru kira x reader

prompt: ghoul + restraints (monsterfucker kinktober 2022)

summary: post-accident, izuru struggles to keep both his hunger under wraps, and his relationship intact. but as he finds the frayed edges of his control slipping, so does your presence in his life.

word count: 6.3k omg

cw: 18+, afab reader, ghoul!au, monsters that eat humans, reader is not eaten (other people are though), mentions of starvation, suicidal ideation, blood, vomiting, forced feeding, muzzles, handcuffs, last 2k is where all the smut is tbqh—the rest is angst

—

Hunger, Izuru thinks, is a sensation worse than death.

He’s tasted death on his tongue–a sharp, metallic tang. Pain that swallowed him whole, that spit him back out into this world, starving. Hungering.

(He’s tasted death in another way, as well.)

But hunger is all-encompassing. All he can think about lately.

He eyes the katsu curry dish you’ve made before him. The rich brown of the curry, the crispness of the pork, the warmth of the rice–these are all things that should appeal to him. You at the very least, seem to be enjoying yourself, chattering away, spooning the curry and rice mixture into your mouth. Izuru lets a ghost of a smile grace his face. He doesn’t breathe, but the overwhelming stench of food still churns his gut. His plate remains untouched.

“Are you sure you don’t want to eat something, Izuru?” you ask again suddenly, and he’s snapped out of his daze.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you.” His smile tightens. The gnawing, expanding feeling in his stomach seems to worsen. He places a hand over his mouth, hoping to feign the illness he’d told you has been afflicting him since his hospital stay months back.

Loss of appetite. Nausea at the smell of food.

Well, one type of food.

There is another thought that occurs to him, one that he can’t voice. One that seems to increasingly haunt his day-to-day life, threatens to break the quaint domesticity the two of you have.

He could bite you. That would certainly fill his appetite.

He digs his fingernails into his palms, feeling crescents dig into his palm.

God, he could never tell you.

How could you look at him the same?

—

“Moved in with ‘em?” Gin drawls, his ever-present smirk on his face. Izuru hates the amusement his mentor drives from this particular situation, hates the truth of him. (The man he looked up to the most, who turned out to be nothing but a monster, who’s cursed him to this same fate.)

But why wouldn’t Gin find this funny?

Izuru is playing with fire.

“Yer’ somethin,’ aren’t’cha? Didn’t know you liked ta’ play with yer food before ya ate it~”

“They’re not food,” he says tersely, eyes trained on the way the flesh gives in beneath Gin’s hands. Gin used to mock him, say that he should be hunting for his own food, that their kind was known to get territorial. But that was before he found out the most amusing news:

That Izuru Kira post-accident is still trying to make things work with his human partner. That even more than that, he’s now living with them. The very thought seemed to be enough for him to dangle this lifeline in front of Izuru.

Izuru doesn’t even flinch as blood splatters across his face.

—

Izuru has always been into tragedies.

Ever since he was a kid. Ever since he’s been aware enough of his wretched existence. And if his life before the accident was act one, this was certainly the second half leading up to a tragic finale.

His hand grips the bathroom sink, leaning over it. His saliva feels stuck to the roof of his mouth, his tongue unbearably dry.

He can smell you, just beyond the shower curtain. Water slicking down your body, rivulets dipping beneath your flesh, the warm, wet musk of sweat. Izuru is so hungry, he’s starting to think his appetite pulling the strings here, and he’s a mindless puppet agreeing to its whims.

How long has it been? Two weeks, maybe three since he last saw Ichimaru? With the lockdowns in the city, it had been hard, so hard to get any source of sustenance.

Gin has his ways of course. Ways that Izuru wishes he could turn a blind eye to. He’s not completely a monster. No matter how much Gin insists they are.

Didn’t know you liked ta’ play with yer food before ya ate it, his words replay in Izuru’s mind.

When you come out of the shower, nuzzling up to him, it takes everything in him to appear relaxed. But then his gaze dips to the curve of your collarbone, the smooth softness of your skin. He’s horrified to find he has to swallow down the saliva accumulating in his mouth.

You’re not food.

You’re not food–

“You should get dressed,” he says suddenly, swallowing down the gnawing hunger inside him, threatening to take shape. He can’t. He can’t–

“Please,” he adds, shaking you off of him. You give him a hurt look, and Izuru squeezes his eyes shut. He can deal with you upset; anything is better than you knowing the truth.

And when he falls into bed with you, it takes everything in him to not lean over and bare his teeth. He lies stiffly on his side, praying to the powers above that you don’t press him.

You two haven’t been intimate in awhile, not since before the accident. He can’t trust himself, his hunger, to not act. Just the thought of your bare flesh, the faint taste of your body wash, has him near delirious.

You’re not food. You’re not food at all.

He loves you. He loves you so much he’s willing to bear the pangs of hunger just to be this close to you.

Oh, he’s such a fool.

—

Cohabitation tests the very limits of his control. If it’s not the shower, it’s you curled up next to him in bed, your shirt riding up, displaying a delicious sliver of your skin.

If it’s not that, it’s you kissing him, the taste of your lips on his nearly high enough to get him drunk. He has to control himself, the part of him that wants so desperately to turn his lips on your neck, into his teeth, into a bite, into gnawing—

He’s distant.

He doesn’t mean to be, but it’s tearing up at him. He downs endless amounts of coffee a day, only leaves the house to get that. At some point, even you’ve noticed his consumption, expressed concern over his increasingly gaunt visage.

You’ve noticed by now, surely you’ve noticed something is off.

Izuru eats it all. Your curry, your udon, your fried rice, anything to keep you happy. And then, when you’re busy washing dishes, he does his best to vomit it all up, the taste of bile in his throat somehow making his hunger even more pronounced.

—

Gin’s words reverberate in his head.

“How’s yer cute lil’ human gonna react when they find out what ya’ gotta eat to stay alive? When you take a lil nibble out of ‘em?”

“It’s a mistake, ya’ know? Humans don’t like us; they’re terrified of us, even.” He grins, a spot of blood on his chin shining in the sun.

“Is’not gonna end well.”

—

No. Izuru isn’t the main character of a tragedy. He’s not some forlorn Romeo, sworn to kill you by his own hand. He can overcome this, this gnawing hunger to be by you, one step at a time.

He bites down on his hand until he feels the skin tear. The way it doesn’t even null the hunger in the slightest sends him spiraling.

—

“W-We’re doing this now?”

Izuru hadn’t considered that you would take action. That you are just as much of a character in this play as he is. That you want something.

Him. His body. The proof that you two, your relationship, is fine. Surely you’ve noticed his distance.

Foolishly, he lets you.

He’s been so hungry. He hasn’t fed in weeks.

He would hate himself if he did something to you.

(At the same time, part of him craves this. The intimacy or your flesh–he’s not sure. He doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to think about how much of a monster he’s become–)

He overestimates his control.

Your neck bared before him. He can’t resist. His teeth dig into the flesh of your neck. He moans as your blood rushes hot and warm into his mouth.

You scream.

—

He fucked up.

Hefuckedup, hefuckedup, hefuckedup.

Izuru stares mournfully at the scene. Momo treats your wound as you sit, dazed. Your scream snapped him out of his frenzy. In a daze, he called her–thankfully, he had enough sense to. He’s not even sure how she understood his frantic voice over the phone.

There was blood, so much blood. Your blood. Everywhere. On the floor. In his mouth.

You’re shaking, gone pale. You passed out once already. From the pain? Shock? Izuru can only imagine.

He’s backed into the corner of a wall, biting down on his palm. He’s sure he must make a ghastly sight; his eyes must be pitch black, with red sclera. His mouth painted red with your blood. The look of a monster.

You’re trying your best not to stare at him. The one time you do glance over, you flinch.

Monster.

He is a monster.

He hurt you.

He tried to eat you.

He wanted to eat you, and he would have.

Momo is calmly trying to explain what’s happened to him, the accident, what he’s become. Their lifestyle. Their diet. And from the way you momentarily give her a look of fear, Izuru knows that you know she’s the same kind of monster he is.

Izuru knows he should be by your side, he should be there for you. But he’s the one who hurt you in the first place. And that very knowledge makes him want to run. Run far away, run from himself.

So he does.

—

When Gin finds him, bloodied and blank-stared, of course he knows what happens. It’s written all over Izuru’s face.

“Maybe it’ll be a good lesson for ya.’ Bet you were tryna create one of those tragic endings ya’ like readin’ about so much.”

Izuru says nothing, even as his mentor drags him back to his apartment. Shoves him onto the floor. Throws a slab of something in front of him.

His mouth stays shut.

The taste of you lingers on his tongue.

—

“Izuru? Can we… talk? You left without saying anything…”

“Izuru, I’m sorry. Momo kind of explained to me… I don’t blame you. I’m sorry for not realizing you’ve been struggling this badly with your… appetite.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster.”

“I do think I deserve some kind of closure, though.”

“Izuru, I’m getting worried. It’s been almost two weeks. The bite’s almost healed. Are you even…”

“Izuru, where are you?”

Voicemail box full. Message cannot be saved.

—

Izuru wants to waste away.

He doesn’t deserve to exist.

Not in this form, not if all he can do is bring harm to others.

He tries to starve. Wants to see how long his kind can survive without human flesh before wasting away. He’s scornful. He hates this life, hates his new diet.

But fate is cruel. His mentor is cruel. Gin forces bits of flesh into his mouth that keep him alive. No matter how much Izuru tries to retch it back up, to reject it… his body craves it. The satiation that floods through him after every bite disgusts him.

He’s truly a monster.

Gin is definitely amused by his predicament.

He’s so weak, he slips in and out of consciousness. Gin feeds him just enough to stay alive, but not enough to stay awake. There are images, memories that play in his mind. His subconscious cruelly reminding him of what he’d lost.

The first time you met.

(“Um, excuse me? Is this the Intro to Poetry class with Dr. Tosen?”

The two of you became class partners, sharing poetry with one another. Izuru fell in love with you from the words on the page you breathed life into. He could only hope that you felt the same, that his artistic sensitivity spoke to you.

He confessed to you with a haiku, comparing his love to a new spring day.

You were smart enough to realize that he was talking about you.)

The accident.

(Walking down the street in the dead of the night, Izuru had stayed late in the library to work on his dissertation. He’d made a breakthrough that he was excited to share with you once he got home. He didn’t see the car swerving towards him. The car clearly didn’t make out his figure in the dim streetlight.

The crash was instantaneous. The pain everywhere. Izuru’s head hit the pavement, his vision blacked out.

“Well, well, yer’ in pretty bad shape. I’d even say yer a dead man.”

The familiar voice of his advisor. He tried to open his eyes. Everything was a blur. Before he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw were Gin’s eyes. Open, for the first time. Black with red sclera.

Gin leaned down.

Pain tore into Izuru’s shoulder, ripped him anew.)

The day after.

When he awoke, all he felt was the burning pang of hunger.

It hasn’t stopped since.

—

“Izuru?”

A familiar voice. Smell.

A gentle nudge to his shoulder.

“Are you awake?”

Definitely familiar.

His hunger must truly be getting to him, if now he’s hallucinating about you.

“Izuru? Can you hear me?”

After all, why would you be in front of him? How would you know where he even is?

Nonetheless, a part of him wants to linger in this fantasy. One where you care enough to look for him. Where nothing bad happened. Where the two of you could still be together.

“Is he okay?”

A small furrow forms between his brows. Is someone else here? Who else would be in this fantasy–

A sharp blow to the back of his head, right above his neck. Izuru lurches forward, coughing.

“Yah, he’s fine. Just a lil’ slow is all. Lack of food, y’know? Too busy mopin’ ‘bout his own life.”

Ichimaru? Why would you and Ichimaru be in the same hallucination?

Then Izuru’s eyes snap open. Why would you and Ichimaru be in the same room? Only if you were dinner–

He swivels his head upwards, calling out your name in a panic. Only to meet your surprised face, inches from his, from where you’re kneeling in front of him.

“Ah–” The two of you stare at each other for a beat.

Izuru calls out your name, and that breaks the moment. He’s taken aback when you wrap your arms around him. Blinking several times, he realizes that no, this isn’t a dream. The thrum of your heart next to his ear, the soft give of your body. It’s all real.

He murmurs your name. His eyes slip shut as he returns your hug, slumping against you.

The illusion of normalcy. He may as well enjoy it while it lasts.

It takes a moment for him to realize you’re talking to him.

“...I was so worried you had died or–or something worse. Do you have any idea how stressful the past few weeks have been?” you ask, pushing back from him to give him a stern look.

Izuru’s mouth feels dry now for another reason.

“I… I’m sorry,” he says weakly.

“You better be sorry, Izuru. It’s one thing to find out that you’re a… you know, but then to go weeks without hearing from you? What the hell?”

“I…” His brow furrows. This is not at all the response he expected. “I didn’t… I thought it would be better if I had…”

“What? Disappeared?” You scrutinize him, before sighing. Reaching towards him to ruffle his hair. “Look, it’s not okay to just disappear when problems occur, Izu. Haven’t we talked about this before? It makes me worry…”

“I’m sorry,” Izuru says again, because at this point that’s all he thinks he can say. He’s sorry he’s a monster. He’s sorry he’s like this. He’s sorry that he’s showing such a pitiful display in front of you. He’s sorry, he’s sorry, he’s sorry.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “I didn’t know if you still wanted to… be around me. After… well…”

His gaze darts to your shoulder, which you’ve mostly covered up. A sliver of gauze peeks through, and his visage darkens. You catch his eye, shifting your shirt to better cover the wound.

“Well,” Gin says suddenly, clapping his hands. It startles you both; neither of you seem to have remembered your audience. “‘M glad yer here to get this moper outta here. Much as it was fun ta’ watch, he’s really been dampenin’ the mood all ‘round.”

Izuru jolts. “What? N-No, I can’t go back. I can’t!”

“Ya’ gotta learn how to live with humans, ya’ know? It helps ta’ stay full.” Gin gives him a sharp look.

Izuru stares at him, aghast. “What if something happens? If I… if I lose control again…” He glances towards you helplessly. “I don’t think I could live with myself,” he says lowly.

“If you get hungry,” you offer, hesitantly. “Momo left a few things you can eat. In the fridge. B-Back at my place.”

His stomach churns. He can’t imagine how awful it is for you to know what he subsists on. His diet. You must be disgusted with him. Surely.

“Well, ya’ two lovebirds, I’mma have to kick you out,” Gin interrupts. “Rangiku’s comin’ over in a few. I ain’t got all day. Kira, do yer best not to eat yer cute lil’ human this time~”

Before Izuru knows it, Ichimaru is slamming the door in both of your faces.

He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, hard enough that he can taste blood. His own. When he speaks, his voice is shaky.

“If… if you want, I can find another friend to stay with. Momo, maybe. I understand if you don’t feel safe around me–”

You cough meaningfully. He stops, shifting awkwardly in place.

You sigh. “Izuru… what part of ‘I’m not afraid of you’ do you not get?”

“Truthfully? All of it,” he says blandly. “I think you’re insane.” You jab him in the ribs, and he inhales sharply. “Ow. Okay, sorry. But really... why aren’t you afraid of me?” He rubs his side, a frown etched into his features. “I would be.”

“Well, I’m not.”

His look is disbelieving, and you elaborate. “I… I mean like, I kind of get it. If I was starving and had only like… almonds to eat, I would also probably chow down on the closest burger when presented before me.”

He looks horrified. You have to bite down on your lip to hold your laugh. “Sorry! That’s kind of how Momo described it to me.”

“You’re not a… burger. Or food.” He frowns. “I need to talk to Momo about her analogies…” he mutters dismally.

You laugh this time, and Izuru, despite the stress of the situation, relaxes slightly at the familiar sound. God, he’s missed it.

“I may have taken liberties with her explanation,” you admit. Your mirth trails off as you clear your throat. “So, are you finally going to believe me when I say I want to be around you still?”

Izuru surveys you cautiously. Not to determine his answer, but to gauge your reaction.

“No.”

“That’s… very characteristic of you. I guess you won’t believe me until we’re back home and I haven’t locked you out.”

He musters up a hint of a smile to give you.

As the two of you walk home, your hand nudges his. Once. Then twice. By the third time, Izuru grasps it.

He doesn’t understand it, but you still want him.

And for now, that’s all he needs to know.

—

Once the two of you are outside the door to your apartment, he tugs on your wrist.

“Look I… I can’t promise I won’t…” Izuru frowns, trying to find the words. The past few weeks have taken their toll on him mentally. “That it won’t happen again. I’m not… who you think I am. Not anymore.”

You tilt your head to the side. The action is so endearing that despite himself, Izuru reaches out, cupping your cheek with his thin fingers. He leans down, eyes dark, close enough until your noses brush against each other.

He wants to kiss you.

He wants so badly to taste you.

But a glance at your bandaged shoulder reminds him of what he needs to do first, and he pulls back, steeling himself.

“I couldn’t live with myself if I did something bad to you again. I don’t…” He inhales sharply. “I don’t deserve the second chance you’re giving me. But if something were to happen, please. Stop me. Do whatever it takes.”

“Don’t show me mercy, no matter what.”

You glance askew, seeming to ponder the weight of his words. While Izuru feels relief, it’s tinged with anxiety. Maybe he’s finally finally gotten through to you. Maybe you’re regretting the decision to seek him out.

But he’s giving you an out. A chance to turn him down.

You don’t have to doom yourself to a fate with him. He’ll understand if you’d rather break things off here and now. Despite how much something in his gut seems to churn at the very thought.

You can go back to your normal life, and pretend he never happened. And he can go back to trying to adjust to his new life, all while ignoring the pang in his chest whenever the thought of you crosses his mind....

“Ah!” you exclaim suddenly. Izuru looks at you curiously. “That must be why he gave me this... One second.” You rummage through your bag. “Your advisor--Ichimaru, is it?--handed this to me before we left.” You pull out the object. Izuru stares.

And stares.

It’s a muzzle.

A leather muzzle, with an intricate layout of straps and buckles. Certainly too big to fit a dog’s mouth. Perhaps meant to fit a human.

Izuru pales at the implication. “Ichimaru… gave this to you?”

“Yeah! He said he, uh...” Your voice lowers as you glance around conspiratorially. “He said he found it in a sex shop. He thought you might need it...”

Izuru suddenly feels ill. He’s certain he turns a shade of green. You catch sight of his expression and quickly clarify.

“Don’t worry! It should be unused.”

“That… that’s not the problem!” he whispers back furiously, glancing around before quickly unlocking your door. He ushers the two of you inside, hoping to the powers above that no has caught sight of or heard your indecency.

If one of your neighbors saw you brandishing a muzzle before him… and admitting it’s from a sex shop… he doesn’t think he would ever be able to live it down.

That damn Ichimaru.

—

He dons it.

Because he doesn’t trust himself, because he still can’t determine if he’s staring at you with hunger in the literal sense or hunger in the sense of wanting you close to him…. Izuru dons the muzzle.

It’s dehumanizing, but surprisingly not nearly as uncomfortable as he assumed it would be. The leather is thick, sturdily made. He can talk through it, but it’s muffled. He certainly can’t open his mouth at all to bite.

In some ways, it’s an ideal solution, he begrudgingly admits.

Before he puts it on, he does sneak some of the food Momo had left in the fridge for him, in an inconspicuous brown bag labeled with his name. He’s decided if he’s going to be around you, Ichimaru is right. He needs to make sure he’s not starving. You keep your gaze trained on the wall behind you as he eats. Izuru suggests you leave the room, not wanting you to see the ghastly sight of him, but you stay. He tries to eat quickly, discreetly.

He leaves the room only to brush his teeth, to rid himself of the taste of blood on his mouth. For your sake. In case... he flushes at the thought.

In case you feel like kissing him, at all.

The stress of the day seems to have gotten to you both, though, and you decide to retire early for the night. Izuru follows you to the bedroom, feeling weary from his own several weeks of psychological torment.

Which leads to his current predicament.

Izuru lies stiff next to you in bed. He’s turned to one side, his back to you.

You’re so warm, so soft. He can practically feel the thrum of your blood with his heightened senses.

Izuru turns towards you. You’re sleeping peacefully, your hand outstretched towards him. Your hair is in disarray, and as he watches, a bit of drool escapes your mouth.

He cracks a smile, brushing some of the hair from your face.

Izuru’s hand trails down to the shoulder he bit, and lightly skims the bandage covering your wound. Then, before he can stop himself, his hand strays even lower, until it’s hovering right above your heart. He’s never found the steady beat of your heart more comforting than he does now. It’s a sign that you’re alive. That his hunger hadn’t consumed him completely.

His eyes flutter shut as he presses his palm against your chest.

He realizes too late just what part of you he’s touching when his finger brushes against a nipple, hardened and poking through your shirt. He freezes, his hand stilling.

How long has it been since he’s felt your body against his–bared, nothing but skin against skin?

Images flash through his mind, and despite himself, Izuru’s body feels hot. His gaze trails back up to your injured shoulder, and the thought–awful as it is–occurs to him.

What if he gave you a matching bite on the other side?

Izuru shakes his head to rid himself of the thought. He shifts uncomfortably. Heat pools down to below his gut, where it simmers.

Of all the times to get an erection, certainly the worst was while trying not to devour your loved one.

Izuru signs through the muzzle, adjusting himself once more. He wills himself to think of the most painful things he can–his accident, Gin’s shopping escapades, that time Momo dropped a bowling ball on his foot.

Maybe it’s his proximity to you. Maybe it’s the inherent deviancy of needing restraints to not ravish you–in which way, he wasn’t sure.

But Izuru revisits the thought of biting you, one that disturbed him only a few moments ago. Yet now… it seems different. Rather than his literal desire for your flesh Izuru realizes the appeal of the idea of biting you can be sexual.

Marking you. Letting everyone know that you’re his. Leaving physical proof of his love on your flesh.

His.

His lover.

Offering themselves up to him.

Letting him back into their life, even knowing of his monstrous nature.

Allowing him to feast on them, both literally and carnally.

Izuru inhales sharply. He flexes his thighs, pressing his hips against the band of his boxers. He’s so turned on, it’s starting to hurt. He briefly considers taking care of himself in the bathroom, in privacy. Where he can’t disturb you.

You’re so tired. He’s already inconvenienced you this far. He can’t bother you with something as trivial as this.

Izuru tries his best to escape the bed quietly, but it creaks under his weight. You’ve never been a light sleeper, but suddenly you’re awake, your voice cutting through the fog of his desire.

“Izuru? You okay?”

“Mmf.” He tries to say yes, but it’s muffled through the muzzle. It’s too late. You’re already turning on the lights. You give him a once-over, and Izuru’s whole body flushes once your eyes are drawn to his groin. He glances down, and his worst fears are realized. A wet patch stains the front of his boxers. Mortification washes through him.

“Oh. Um…”

He shakes his head furiously, grabbing a pillow to hide his shame. This isn’t what it looks like! He isn’t some pervert that gets off to being bound! But his own body betrays him.

“I didn’t know these kinds of things turned you on, Izuru,” you finally say.

He wants to die of embarrassment. Is it too late to go back to Gin’s place?

Scratch that. Ichimaru was the one who bought this damn muzzle in the first place.

“It’s… it’s okay. It’s been awhile since we’ve done anything. Plus with what’s happened lately… it makes sense that you’re… you know. Pent-up?”

Nope, nope it doesn’t. Izuru doesn’t want to discuss his bodily functions right now. Not when he’s still stiff, not when he was about to take care of it himself, without burdening you.

He jerks his head towards the bathroom door, resolutely refusing to glance at you.

But you reach out, before pausing. Your hand brushes his wrist holding the pillow to himself. You tilt your head. “Can I help?”

Izuru stares at you, uncomprehending.

“Like… I mean. I wouldn’t mind helping you out there,” you say, your gaze darting to the pillow before back up at him. Seeking permission.

Izuru weighs his options.

Is it more pitiful to bother you with his bodily needs? Or to be jerking off in the bathroom alone after declining his lover’s offer to help?

He can’t decide. But eventually he nods.

After you stare at him expectantly for several seconds, he realizes that he needs to uncover himself. Right.

He drops the pillow uncertainly, and to your credit, you don’t look down. His hands fumble with the sides his boxers, before tugging them down. He doesn’t know why—you two have definitely seen each other naked before, a few times, in fact—but something about this feels like new territory.

He finally yanks them down completely. His cock springs up, a trail of precome sticking to his underwear. He grimaces, but your eyes seem drawn to the sight. Izuru shuffles towards the bed, nearly tripping over his boxers. He stumbles, face turning red beneath the mask as he kicks them off the rest of the way. Unsure of how to position himself, he settles for half-kneeling on the bed with one leg, standing with the other.

Your hand on his cock is sudden, and nearly has him toppling over. It’s been so long, and your hand is so soft, your grip so sure. Izuru hisses through the muzzle, bucking his hips into your touch. You stroke him, tugging his foreskin over the weeping head of his cock, and Izuru’s eyes near roll into the back of his head.

As you pump him, he realizes belatedly that the soft, keening sounds are coming from him, which he soon silences.

“Aw~ I liked hearing you,” you tease. He flushes.

Your mouth lapping at the tip of his cock nearly has him cumming right then and there. As it is, his balls clench, and he doubles over, grasping your hand.

“Hm?” you ask. He shakes his head rapidly. “Oh, close?”

He nods.

“Want me to stop?”

“Mnn,” he says. Yes. He doesn’t want to finish so soon when it’s your first time together in awhile. He tugs at the strap of your shirt, and you get the hint. After you discard the shirt, he gestures at your panties.

“Wanna be inside?”

He nods tersely, his eyes trained keenly on the sight of your pussy being revealed to him. Your folds glisten as you remove your panties, strings of your arousal sticking to the fabric. Even through the leather muzzle, he can smell you, needy and wet for him. It makes his cock throb.

Izuru wastes little time in mounting you, his hands digging into the bedsheets as he positions himself over you. He thrusts, and your combined juices make him glide right past your entrance. He huffs in annoyance, and your hand comes down to grasp his length. Carefully you guide him into you, the both of you inhaling sharply once he thrusts all the way, until his hips meet yours.

This time Izuru’s eyes do roll to the back of his head. Fuck. Has he felt anything more divine? He’d write odes to how good you feel around him.

Izuru thrusts slowly, dragging his cock along your entrance before sinking back in. He’s breathing harshly through his mask. Your walls clench tight around him, drawing him in, refusing to let go.

He’d be a fool if he did.

His cock rubs against a certain spot inside you, and you clench around him particularly tight. He grunts, pleasure building in his balls. Fuck, he’s close.

His hands grip your sheets tightly, balling them into fists.

Not mindful of his newfound strength from feeding so recently.

Riiiip.

Fabric tears beneath you.

The both of you still at the sound. Izuru releases his fists, and torn shreds of your bedsheets flutter onto the bed.

Your jaw drops.

He looks mortified. He slips out of you.

You turn around to survey the damage. While your bedsheet is mostly intact, there are two giant, jagged tears ripped across it.

“Did you…”

Izuru hangs his head. He is truly a beast now.

“Hey, i-it’s okay! Um, he said this also might happen... Can you pass me my bag?” Izuru reaches down to grab it, handing it to you. You rummage through it. “It’s a good thing your advisor also gave me these,” you say, before pulling out a pair of--a pair of--

Izuru stares blankly at the item in your hand.

First the muzzle. Now handcuffs.

Steel handcuffs.

Surely, Ichimaru knew these wouldn’t be used for innocent reasons only. The fact that he knows about his sex life--knows enough that he figured Izuru would lose control and would need these things--makes him want to perish.

His cock flags a bit, truthfully.

You notice Izuru’s despair, and shrug, attempting to brighten the mood.

“I mean, if it comes in handy...”

Dully, he reaches his hands out to you, allows you to cuff him. He’ll try his best to will the thought of Ichimaru out of the bedroom. Even if the thought of his advisor knowing the intimate details of his sex life threatens to ruin the mood.

Izuru shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts. Once he’s bound, you have him lie on his back. Ah. It is harder for him to be on top now, he supposes.

“Everything good?”

He nods stiffly, still not quite over his mortification. You seem to realize that you’ll have to get him back into the mood, and you settle between his legs, spreading his thighs apart.

“Relax, Izu. Keep your focus on me, okay?”

Your mouth descends on him again. He attempts to do as you instruct, but finds it difficult. With how skilled you are--lapping at the tip of his cock, hands pumping him at the base, stroking him to full hardness again--he finds pressure building once again at the base of his cock. He adjusts his hips, accidentally thrusting deeper into your throat. His toes curl into the now-ruined bedsheets as you choke.

He’s frantically offering muffled apologies through the muzzle, but you wave them off, wiping spit from your chin. You straddle his hips, sliding your slick against his cock. He struggles against the handcuffs, wanting desperately to guide himself back into you.

Izuru leans his head back once he finally feels your wet, hot pussy engulf his stiff cock, the muscles in his neck straining.

He shudders, jerking his hips up into you. Your hands find purchase on his thighs as you push yourself up, before dropping yourself onto his cock. Grinding your hips against his, you lean down. He lifts his cuffed hands up, and you slip under them, burying your face into his neck. Izuru can’t kiss you, but he nudges his muzzle against your head, dropping his hands to hold you to him.

He rolls his hips against yours, inching in deeper. Your mewls and soft moans are ambrosia he would gladly get drunk on.

“Oh god, Izu… you feel so good.”

Is he making you feel good? He bets he could make you feel better. He digs his heels into the bed, flexing his hips, his cock aiming for that spot inside you that has you moaning loud, clenching tight around him. “Fuck!” you exclaim.

You hump him, working yourself towards your own orgasm. Izuru’s eyes flutter shut, his brow tensing. He’s breathing hard again. His hands flex against the cuffs, wanting desperately to remove them; his teeth dig into the muzzle, wishing it was off.There are so many things he wants to do to you that he can’t.

Grasp your hips, make you ride him harder. Cup your face, kiss you deeply, whisper praises of how beautiful you look above him. Wrap you in his arms, and thrust into you, deeply enough that your bodies meld together.

But there’s time for that. Practice. Patience. He yearns for the day he can be with you, like this, without these kinds of barriers.

For now though, he’ll try to make the most of them.

You’re gasping and moaning his name, and you press your lips to his forehead, the one part of his face that you can access. The muzzle digs uncomfortably into your neck, but Izuru keeps you to him, his hips moving more fervently now. They’re bucking up into you, aiming with deadly precision at the spot that has you spiraling.

When you cum, it’s with a stuttering cry of his name.

“Izuru! Fuck. I love you.”

“Mmph!” Your pussy clenches hard around him, and Izuru loses it. His vision goes white from the intensity of his orgasm. He thrusts into you as deeply as he can. Spilling himself into you in spurts, until you’re overflowing with him, until it’s dribbling out and back onto him in milky trails.

Tiredly, he clutches you to him. He’s more exhausted now than he’s been in the past two weeks. The cuffs dig into his wrists, and he has to adjust them.

You shift until your face is level with his. Izuru flinches as the movement causes his softening cock to slip out from inside you.

Your fingers card through his sweaty locks, brushing the hair from his face.

“I do love you,” you tell him earnestly. “Human or not.”

Izuru tries to draw you closer to him. You notice the awkward movements from his cuffed hands, and unlock them. Now freed, he holds you to him closely, his chin resting on your head.

You don’t need to hear him to tell what he’s thinking.

I feel the same.

#izuru kira x reader #bleach x reader #izuru kira imagine #izuru smut #tati writes #oopsies #btw these are definitely like tokyo ghoul ghouls #bleach thots #bleach smut #NOT SFW #tw: ghouls #tw: sucidal ideation #tw: blood #tw: starvation #tw: vomit #wow I have so many trigger warnings sahofludhsof oopses

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