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hiwofumi · 2 years

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𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐭

starring ⭒ kishibe ⭒ fem reader

tags ⭒ fluff ⭒ age gap ⭒ suggestive scenes ⭒ pet names (for kishibe: old man, dear) ⭒ size difference (reader is smaller than kishibe) ⭒ 1.7k words

note ⭒ started making the banner, had a breakdown, bon appétit 🫠 ⭒ big thank you to the dears @akicore and @blueparadis for beta reading!

𝟏 ︱ THE CONFESSION

“I like you.”

You’re seated next to him in the quiet of a meeting room when you blurt it out. He’s slouching over the wide table, tapping the surface with his fingers, a hair’s breadth of patience left. When he hears you, his fingers stop. Then he turns to you. “Why?”

He retains his lax expression. He’s noticed through your gestures—your habit of lacing your arm around his as you walk, your common act of sitting too close to him (like you are at present). Always him and no one else.

“I’m just an old man. You’re a charming young lady.” He adds.

“Give yourself some credit, old man,” you say, eyeing him casually, resting your cheek on your palm. “Sure, you’re rough around the edges, but I like that about you.”

He always thought your affection was platonic, a young devil hunter doting on her eldest senior. It didn’t necessarily help—if there was anyone who knew best what happened to the good ones, it was him.

He’s certain he won’t ask you to stop anytime soon, though.

“What do you say?” you ask.

“I say you’re crazy,” he responds.

“Is that a no?”

He deliberates as he gazes at you. “No. I like crazy.”

Intrigued by his answer, you reach for his scar, grazing it with the pads of your fingers. His thin beard scratches your palm. His fixed stare tells you he’s waiting for a motion.

The space between you recedes until your lips touch.

You know the taste of whisky and menthol cigarettes, but not when they came from his mouth. Not when he was written all over them.

They taste better like this.

When Makima walks in, you’re settled comfortably on his lap, and your lipstick smears the edges of his mouth. You both turn to her with alarm, the faces of two people caught.

“What’s this?” she smirks, then she turns to you. “I’m surprised. You never struck me as the antique type.”

𝟐 ︱ THE LIFE

When Kishibe was alone, he would come home late at night to inebriate or sleep his inebriation away. His apartment was empty whether he was in it or not; every space seemed cold and hollow, void of anything worthwhile. He refused to stick around for long periods of time.

Now it’s a dresser crowded with makeup products, a closet with nude-colored bras and panties, and a bathroom drain clogged with hair.

It’s also button-ups of contrasting sizes in the washer, big and small dress shoes in the genkan, and the empty side of the bed pleasantly filled.

He’s never felt warmer in his home.

“Eat your fruit, old man,” you lean over the armchair he sits in with a plate of sliced apples in your hand. You offer him a genial smile along with it.

His eyes reflect the motions of what’s on TV as he accepts the plate. “I don’t think you should keep calling me ‘old man,’”

You sit on one of the chair’s armrests. “How’s ‘baby’ sound?”

“Anything but that,” he says plainly, feeding the first piece of apple he picks up to you.

You chew loudly, uttering in between, “Master?”

“You’re not my student anymore,”

“Kishibe?”

“That’s just my name.”

“Hmm,” your tongue protrudes from your cheek. Then you tip your head toward him, “Dear?”

You see it in his pause: the slight curve of his lips, indicating you’ve hit the jackpot.

“I like that.”

𝟑 ︱ THE INTIMACY

“Oh dear,”

Your bare skin rubs against dark sheets as you shift sideways, your head throbbing, a soreness between your thighs. The air you’ve woken up to reeks of liquor and sin.

When you open your eyes, you’re greeted by the old scars on Kishibe’s broad back. He turns to face the ceiling with his eyes still closed, his gray hair sticking out at the sides. “What?” he asks groggily, another layer of gruffness to his voice; it was like that in the morning.

“Did we . . . ?”

His eyes flutter open. He looks down, raises your shared blanket to peek under it, then puts it back. “Looks like it.”

You groan and roll to the other side, facing away from him. “I can’t remember a thing,” you rub your face with your palms.

“I can remember some things,” he faces your side and shifts closer, wrapping his arm around your bare waist, pressing his front to your back. His chin rests on the crown of your head.

“Like what?” you put your hand over his as his fingers caress your stomach.

“Your pretty face,” he murmurs lowly. “Your pretty sounds.”

A breathy chuckle escapes your nose. “Was I good?”

His palm flattens on your stomach. Then it glides downward, to the middle of your thighs, leaving a streak of warmth in its wake. Your lungs feel compressed in your rib cage.

He lingers there, and your mind falls into a one-track state, absorbed in the bliss of his motions.

“So good,” he indulges in your mewls, presses himself to you further, and you squirm.

𝟒 ︱ THE FEAR

For the majority of his life, Kishibe had only seen people die, die, and die.

With you working in the same field, the thought of you joining those people inevitably crept into his mind. It’s another reason to drink, another reason to lie awake at night with a head full of troubles that drown out the sound of your light snoring.

You’re never out of his sight when you’re working together, and you’re never at peace when you’re not. Your cellphone has never received so many calls in one day.

One night, as he undresses on the edge of the bed after a day at work, you straddle his lap. You drape your arms around his shoulders, over his half-undone button-up, and regard him with a tender smile.

He shouldn’t be bothered when you’re a heavenly sight, but the thought creeps into his mind again. He could lose this smile through your line of work. He could lose this existence if you weren’t careful.

For once, he wears his heart on his sleeve. “I think you should resign.”

Your smile falls. There’s no returning from this.

He continues, “Don’t worry about supporting your family. I’ll take care of it.”

Your eyes cast down to his loose necktie. You take it between your fingers and rub the silk. You deliberate for several moments, and the longer he waits, the louder the thumping in his chest resounds.

You meet his eyes with resolve, smiling again. “No.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but you continue, “Look, I know I’m not as strong as you are. Nobody is. But I can take care of myse—”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I’m not saying you can’t. I just want you to—”

“Be safe?” you cup his cheeks, leaning closer until your noses brush. “I know, dear.”

He breathes you in. He notes the growth of your pupils before pressing a kiss to your lips. “I can’t lose ya.”

“You won’t,” you kiss him, too, and linger on his lips. “In fact, I’ll stick around for so long that you’ll get sick of me.”

His heart settles. In a wave of relief, he takes you into his arms and stands. He kneels on the bed, sets your head down on the pillow, and swallows you with his frame. “You’ll get sick of me first,”

𝟓 ︱ THE RESOLVE

“Do you wanna get married?”

Your eyes grow, then shift from the ceiling to set on him. You lie together in bed; sweat sheens his forehead, and his bare chest rises and falls rapidly, like yours. But he sounded calm when he asked, and he looks calm as you observe him.

He turns his head to you. “If I die, everything I own will be yours. I don’t have much, but I’d like you to have all of it.”

In your pensive silence, your breathing eases. You shift your body and face his side, propping your head up on one elbow. “You make it sound like you have to convince me to marry you.”

He replies with a semblance of hope, “Is that a yes?”

You hum in brief thought. “Do you have a ring?”

He pauses, then says, “Not at the moment.”

“Then no,” you switch sides curtly, facing your back to him. He saw it coming.

You meant it lightly. But the following night, as you drink with your colleagues, your several calls to him go unanswered.

Your beer glass sweats in your hand. You wonder if it has to do with your rejection, or worse: What if something’s happened?

Your anxiety branches out, multiplying thought after thought: Should I have accepted his proposal the first time? Was that his last chance to ask me? My last chance to say yes? Are his possessions ever going to be mine like he hoped?

Your colleagues watch you closely, wanting and attempting to assure you that he’s fine. But they know as well as you do that you can never tell.

Then gray hair sticks out of the curtains, a head lowered to fit into the doorframe, and the first pair of eyes he meets is yours.

You’re on the verge of tears with your phone pressed to your ear. You put it down abruptly. “Where the hell were you?”

He trudges toward you, to the end of the low table where you sit alone, and kneels at your side. “Are you drunk? Why are you crying?”

“You weren’t answering my calls,” you sob, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, looking down abashedly.

“I was getting you something,” his hand disappears under his coat. “It was hard to pick.”

He holds a small velvet box out to you and opens it, prompting a collective gasp from your colleagues. “Will you say yes this time?”

The ring matches his silver hair; its tiny stones adorning the sides of the center stone resemble the long scar on his cheek. Your glossy eyes reflect its luster, blurring with the spill of more tears. You nod at him.

Cheers rip through the silence of the room and disrupt the peace of the establishment. He slides the ring into your finger, presses a kiss to your hand, then your lips. “I’ll never leave your side.”

You sniff and smile against the brush of his thumbs under your wet eyes, the tender kiss he lays on your forehead. “I’ll take your word for it.”

network ⭒ @tokyometronetwork

#kishibe x reader #csm x reader #chainsaw man x reader #csm fluff #chainsaw man fluff #csm headcanons #chainsaw man headcanons #csm x you #chainsaw man x you #csm fanfic

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batterygarden · 2 years

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um um um may i request denji and face sitting because ummm um um

YOU MAY (look at him in glasses, @akicore & i are going insane--ALSO thx for betaing, lover)

cw: AFAB reader, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, he calls u baby once, strength kink, Minors DNI, 1.2 k word... m.list

“I’m nervous, Denji.”

“For me?” he leans his head forward, eyes all big and innocent while they bore into you, “Why? Don’t get it.”

You play with his fingers in your lap, focusing your attention on them instead of returning his eye contact when you respond, “What if I break your nose?”

One side of his mouth curls up at that, like he’s holding in a laugh. “My nose? Baby you could kill me ‘nd I wouldn’t be mad.”

You frown while he lays down, getting cozy with his head on a pillow, still smirking while he pats his mouth comically—an invitation. When you don’t move from your place on the end of the bed, he lifts his head to look at you.

“...I was kidding. You wouldn’t really kill me. I’ll be okay.”

He lays his head back down when you start moving, unable to hold back a blush when you slowly crawl up over him, hesitating once you’re straddling his chest. His warm hands are quick to hook around your thighs.

“You’re really pretty,” Denji mumbles, his eyes trailing down your body, catching on your breasts, and he makes a mental note to focus on those later. They follow your curves down, settling on your lacy little panties—his mouth waters and his cock twitches.

His hands slide up to thumb over your hip bones while you hover in front of his chin, “come closer, please.”

He lifts his head up when you finally scoot forward, still hovering, to kiss the inner crease at your thigh, chuckling when you buck your hips lower towards his touch. His laugh is contagious, it has you giggling, too, up above him. But still you hover.

“Are you scared m’gonna bite you?” His lips move against your thigh while he speaks—it tickles.

“No! Denji, I’m… still worried I’ll suffocate you.” You push your fingers through his hair, gripping at its roots.

“Wish ya would,” you think you hear him murmur, pulling you lower till he doesn’t have to crane his neck to taste you. First he licks the wet spot on your underwear, lapping at your juices and moaning before flattening his tongue, dragging it up to your clit to suck lightly through the fabric. You’re already tugging his hair, leaning more and more of your weight onto his face and rocking, occasionally lifting a bit when you remember your self-control. But after you lift one too many times, Denji’s fingers tighten around your thighs, holding you close with an ironclad grip—making you squirm.

It’s not long before Denji’s had enough of the thin garment blocking his way, pulling it to the side aggressively with his thumb so he can finally lick you how he wants. Which you quickly realize is mercilessly. Like he’s hungry—starved for something only your pussy can satiate, drinking you in like he’s dehydrated. It is intense. He eats with reverence, slurping loud and humming in appreciation, his tongue swimming laps between your hole and your clit before focusing there, suctioning on till you see stars.

Your feedback is choppy, like your brain can’t sync up in time to react to his movements—to these sensations. You’re all broken moans and shudders, the only thing consistent is the way you pull his hair.

At this point you’ve forgotten your hovering plan or why it mattered, letting your full weight fall upon his lips and his tongue—and Denji is ecstatic. It doesn’t take long for his treatment to become sloppy, for his fingers to dig into your flesh as he assaults your nerves, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. You cum quickly and easily—your brain turning to mush as you convulse around his tongue—eventually having to pull away at the overstimulation. You start climbing off of him, exerting way more energy than usual with your tired muscles, but Denji stops you, asking “Where are you goin’?” as he shoves sweaty hair out of his face and licks his stained lips.

Your eyes widen when you process his implication—he wasn’t finished??

“You’re not… done?”

His eyes crinkle incredulously—like it should be obvious. “No?” Then his eyebrows shoot up, “Unless—did you want me t’be?”

Your voice is meek when you answer, shaking your head quickly, “No… I want you to keep going.”

Denji’s only response is a shit-eating grin and a tug of your waist—guiding you back to his mouth.

Only you catch yourself, holding back.

“Wait… ‘M really sensitive—” Denji can tell, his eyes can’t stop drifting to your thighs and how they shake as you try to hold yourself up. “---Dunno if I can -hic- take it.”

Denji slides his hands to your hips, furrowing his brows but managing to lift you a bit and lessen the tremble in your thighs, you gasp at his raw strength, mouthing a wow.

“I’ll be really super gentle,” he says, his tone and face sweet as he meets your eyes, “Promise.”

You bite your lip while your heart seems to melt in your chest, whispering a kay while you let him lower you back down—not even phased as he carefully rips open the middle of your panties for easier access this time.

He wasn’t lying about being more gentle, as he begins by softly lapping up your previous release, swallowing every last drop—immediately making you twitch on top of him. His tongue is lazy this time, eating you slow and savoring the taste. The sticky noises your pussy makes against his mouth echo through the room—and Denji wishes he could record them. He’ll have to make do with a memory for now—a memory of the messy wet sound on top of your sweet panting—it’d be enough to make him cum untouched if he wasn’t trying so hard to save it.

This time Denji’s letting you set the pace, his arms merely assisting the rock of your hips while mouth licks and sucks to your rhythm.

You’re worked up quickly, and when you meet his hazy eyes, his gaze is blissed-out and adoring—unleashing fresh butterflies in your tummy before you have to look away. The heat in your chest is almost overwhelming paired with the heat between your legs—you won’t last looking at him like that.

But you want to, you never want this feeling to end—you never want to stop feeling Denji’s attentiveness or his eagerness. Which is why you try pulling away lightly, slowing down your approaching orgasm, trying to save this feeling for as long as possible. But then Denji’s repeating a toe-curling motion with his tongue against your clit, before fucking you with it, spreading your ass with his hands and pushing your body onto his taste buds so your clit is riding his nose.

He only has to repeat the motion a few times before you’re cumming without warning—almost overwhelmingly as you feel the pleasure burn through your tummy and legs. You cry out, unable to control your voice or your shuttering, pulling Denji’s hair almost painfully.

Not that he minds—your orgasm and your reactions are enough to send Denji over the edge with you, never ceasing the steady pumping of his tongue while he makes a mess in his pants. You can barely think by the time your orgasm fades, barely summoning the strength to lift yourself off of Denji’s face—his hands stop you before you can all the way.

He’s panting and his voice is thick when he asks, “Can I give you another?”

Just a lil drabble this week I have another for tmrw or thurs… I’m working on another slightly longer Denji work for next week >:) (think soulmate au 👀) ALSO whoever asked for me to move stuff to ao3,, I’m working on it, some stuff's on there now the link is in masterlist ! …ps should I make a tag list would anybody be into that lmk

#denji x reader #csm x reader #denji fics #denji x you #denji x y/n #denji drabble #denji fanfic

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