theshinazugawaslut

[theshinazugawaslut]

Yall, here's a few screenshots of me thirsting about sanemi in a gc with my friends.

[theshinazugawaslut]

Sometimes I come across my old posts and wonder #sigh

Yall, look at this Sanemi fanart I found — the way I would let this man fuck me raw into oblivion with no protection, no lubricant, no preparation, no warning, no shame, all the way on my mums bed to my dads bed, against the bathroom door to bent over my bath tub, on the toilet and against the cover, from the kitchen sink to the balcony, from my bed to his bed, against the fan and against the wardrobe, draped over the washing machine to hunched behind the fridge, between day and dawn to twilight and midnight, on a chair, on a train, on a bus, during class, on a video call, upside on a tree, in a sewer, on the battlefield, behind a bush, on his mother's gravestone, in a puddle of piss as I scream, cry, whimper, beg, moan his name, huffing and puffing entirely out of breath, I need him biblically as he gives me the most bone breaking, singularity causing, toe clenching, pussy wettening, ass slapping, cheek jiggling, back arching, toes curling, feet snapping, finger popping, hair pulling, writhing, orgasmic, fist clenching, tongue drooling, muscle exploding, eye watering, leg divorcing, knee breaking, shin sucking, nipple bursting, hip thrusting, anus clenching, clit vibrating, knuckle cracking, jaw dislocating, nose bleeding, skin peeling, bone acidifying, hip thrusting, sheet gripping, spinal cord shattering, eyelashes flying off my face, spectacle destroying, over stimulating, cervical mucus ovulating, hormones off the chart, pregnancy inducing, swollen bump causing, ribs expanding to keep inside all his salty cum, nail biting, gravity defying, volcano erupting, uterus popping, ovary exploding orgasm of my life.

[theshinazugawaslut]

If my man (Sanemi) doesn’t look like (Sanemi) he just got out of a mental hospital (sanemi) then what’s the point (Sanemi)

[theshinazugawaslut]

Sniper!Sanemi AU except he's hiding it all from his beloved wife?

[theshinazugawaslut]

As of right now, all Kinktober works have been deleted by Tumblr — I will try my best to rewrite these in my spare time, as of now my plans remain the same as before: to continue with the story plans for November and December.

[theshinazugawaslut]

NOTE: For those of you who are wondering what's happening with Kinktober, all my works are immediately getting reported and taken down :( hopefully, they'll be back up soon!

[theshinazugawaslut]

Thank you for the tag, babe! Here's what I got:

how does pinterest see you? search up:

~fashion

~pantone

~mood

~food

and put the first picture that shows up

mine:

tag ur moots!!!!

@batschistcrazy @julia-bonkers @girlbossblog444 @greengirllover @turnerside @ohmanareyoucereal69 +anyone who wants to join<333

[theshinazugawaslut]

bloody, slutty, and pathetic

[theshinazugawaslut]

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

You’d heard rumours of the fearsome, violent and brute of a man called Sanemi Shinazugawa. The wind Hashira himself who’s said to be a force to be reckoned with and even made someone piss their pants.

The same man everyone in the Demon Slayer Corps avoided whenever possible because of his short temper and occasional death threats. The poor recruits barely able to walk or stay conscious after training with him, who felt the force of his wooden practise sword.

Well, that same man is right now looking at you with an incredulous expression, as if the request you asked of him is the most offensive, disgraceful and unheard thing ever spoken. Sanemi just stares at you, blinking furiously as he struggle to find his words (while he’s also wearing a pink apron, oven mittens and a tray of newly backed cupcakes fresh out of the oven).

“You want me to…what?!”

His cheeks flush pink, his eyes flickering around nervously and he carefully place the tray down on the kitchen counter, as if he’s buying himself time.

You can’t help but grin devilishly, already prepared for that reaction from him. Because despite what most people think or assume about Sanemi Shinazugawa…you were one of the few who’s blessed to witness his true self.

“I want you to smack my ass.”

You cross your arms over your chest, raising an amused eyebrow as you struggle to keep back the laugh threatening to break your matter-of-factly tone.

Sanemi’s whole face reddens further when you confirm what he thought you said but also didn’t want to believe. He shifts his weight from one foot to another, his gaze locked down at the floor. After a minute of silence, he glance up at you, his voice gentle and adorably sweet and uncertain:

“Now?”

Nodding in response to his stuttered question, you turn around, presenting him your rear end. Sanemi swallows hard, taking off his oven mittens methodically as he close the distance. Your ass is tempting and he could never resist touching it, but that’s it.

Not only does Sanemi believe it to be disrespectful to do such things, because he’s a firm believer in not objectifying people in that sense - not even his spouse. He also is afraid of his own strength, terrified to lose control or hurting those he love.

Yet here you are, your perky behind presented to him as you stand with a bend in your knees and Sanemi clutch the oven mittens for dear life.

“I swear, sometimes I don’t know why I bother putting up with you… but fine.”

He mutters under his breath in an exasperated tone and a tenderness which belies his words.

Finally he close the distance even more, you watch as he prepares his hand for the strike. You’re prepared for a sting since you know how incredibly strong he is and you’re already imagining the feeling of his big hand making contact with your cheeks.

“Ready when you are!” You hum playfully, shaking your tushy for him to let him know he has your consent despite this being your request.

Sanemi place the oven mittens on the counter, rubbing his hands together and you can’t help the excitement building inside you. He swings his hand and you bite down on your bottom lip and close your eyes in anticipation.

Pat.

No slap, no stinging and definitely no force behind his action. No. That asshole had just patted your butt gently and then turned away immediately to tend to the cupcakes.

Even with his back turned to you, the blush on his ears betrays him. You can’t decide if you’re annoyed at him or feeling an even stronger affection for this soft man who’s your partner in every sense possible.

You would never actually tell anyone about this side of him, his real side, but if you did no one would believe you anyway.

Not a damn soul will believe that the Sanemi Shinazugawa, Wind Hashira, most violent and feared Demon Slayer is too soft and gentle that he’s not able to even smack his partner’s ass properly at their request.

“Sorry, but even if you’re the one asking…it goes against my beliefs if I ever raise a hand on you. I hope you understand that my hands will never in any way inflict harm on you.”

Sanemi murmurs softly, glancing briefly over his shoulder at you before turning away again when you see the blush on his cheeks. However instead of teasing him or poking fun at him, your heart swells and a warmth spreads through you at his words.

You immediately close the distance, hugs him from behind and bury your face into his back, murmuring assuring words of love, affection and tenderness. Sanemi covers your hands around his waist with his own, giving them a gentle squeeze before I turns around to face you.

“Let’s eat these cupcakes and cuddle, ‘kay?”

He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips before pulling you closer for a kiss.

[theshinazugawaslut]

Just watched the MHA movie and oh my lawd, Giulio Gandini, the man that you are >>>>

[theshinazugawaslut]

All three of these stories will be multiple-chaptered fictions and will be written near end of December for the 1K Special!

[theshinazugawaslut]

NOTE: For those of you who are wondering what's happening with Kinktober, all my works are immediately getting reported and taken down :( hopefully, they'll be back up soon!

[theshinazugawaslut]

1K FOLLOWERS !!!

Thank you so much everyone for helping me achieve this milestone, it means the whole world to me!

Every single one of you have helped me get here and I'm so damn grateful!

To celebrate, I want to do a 1K special in November! So please, give me all your suggestions of what you'd like to see so that I can make a poll!

[theshinazugawaslut]

What the actual fuck, Frida? I'm actually SOBBING, this is genuinely such a touching ending for hie character. I am considering this CANON!

<- Sanemi simp posts masterlist

Imagine Sanemi somehow accidentally ends up at a kindergarten. He doesn’t know how, but now he’s completely surrounded by children between the age of two to five-year-olds.

How he ended up there isn’t important.

What’s important is how he just immediately softened in their presence (despite being known to be a guy with a short temper, barks at everyone and looks scary). Because once those big-eyed, curious and innocent faces looked up at him, he just melts.

He swore he hated it, that the children were annoying and asked too many question. Yet, he always took some time off his day to visit them. With the blessing of the teachers, he took a small group of the oldest children with him to hunt for some beetles.

Sanemi would never for the life of him ever admit it out loud, but being surrounded by the kids just filled him with contentment he hadn’t felt in a long time. Especially when one of the shy ones who’d been hesitant at first to approach him, carefully wrap their tiny hand around his finger.

He kept visiting the kindergarten (and donated all his fortune to the school to keep it maintained and bought whatever needed). No one in the Demon Slayer corps knew about this life of his, he kept it well hidden just like he wanted to and preferred. It was his own happy place, where he could be himself and forget about the grief and anger inside him.

The children reminded him painfully a lot of this younger siblings and instead of being Demon Slayer, “Hashira” or “Shinazugawa”, he gets to be “big brother Sanemi” again. (You have no idea how fucking proud he was when he got the nickname, he’d been smiling to myself the rest of the day).

Once the war was over and the demons all gone along with his last family, Sanemi decided to dedicate his remaining years to the kindergarten. He didn’t care about being paid or anything — because he knew he didn’t have much time left and he told them that he wanted to give everything to expand it, turning it into a school and make room for more children and to employ good teachers.

To him being able to be with the children, helping them and seeing how much they love him. Really, really love him. He’s the one who taught them some cool fighting moves (for self-defense only of course), making ohagi with them and creating the enormous beetle-farm in the schoolyard.

Unbeknownst to Sanemi, but after his passing, the school built a memorial for him. Before Sanemi died he didn’t think anyone would hold a funeral to him or mourn his death, but if only he could see all those teary eyed and ugly sobbing faces of the children, preteens and teenagers who adored him…and the teachers, he’d realise how wrong he’d been.

The small kindergarten Sanemi had first stumbled into for reasons unknown had been small with only a few children. However all his donations and charity turned it into a wonderful place for children to attend and learn.

Because even if Sanemi grew up poor and could barely read, he was a firm believer in education for everyone no matter where they come from. So on top of not only helping the school expand and paying for all resources, he made sure that no child had to pay a dime.

Years after years pass, but the memorial built in honour of Sanemi Shinazugawa still stands proudly in the school yard. Younger generations that never met him, would be told about how they’re able to go to school thanks to him.

And as for Sanemi…

Let’s just say he had been welcomed with open arms in the afterlife by his family.

[theshinazugawaslut]

I'm actually sobbing wtf 😭 this is the sweetest compliment ever, I was so conscious about this one too! Your support means the world to me.

𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑨𝒀 #𝟐 — 💀🎃 "𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 & 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉" 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 / 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒙

tw/cw: dubious consent, mentions of attempting suicide

Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go.

It's the first thing you had learned as a young bumbling girl, back when you'd clutch onto your mother's cold hand tightly and ask in a high, squealing voice about the woods you had found out were strictly forbidden.

"Don't go in there," your mother had said in a hushed tone, "there are awful people in there; ones who will offer you ruby-red apples with the magick of eternity's youth, but you mustn't ever take them, my baby, and if you even manage to get away from the faeries and witches and wolves, then you will reach the ocean infested with all sorts of monsters. You don't wish to be eaten by a half-bird half-fish now, would you?"

So you'd always been wary of the forest, as a little girl to a lady, living a respectful life at the village.

You spent days embroidering satin gowns with arcipluvian birds and cutting sweetheart necklines with a healer's steady hand and stitching diamond-encrusted bodices into tulle skirts; all the uninteresting things that come with being a dressmaker's daughter.

Though tonight, you'd long abandoned the box of jewels and the slim needle that had become a tender muscle in your mind, left them by the melting candle on your bedside.

Your shoulders donned a blood-red cloak made of velvet, your gown glittering under the night sky; you'd stitched it yourself from the spare fabric of a rich woman who often visited your family's little shop in the village. It was a lovely thing and it was your most prized possession: the bodice was nice and fitted, ivory in colour with rose and aureate embellishments, low and tight so that the clear spheres of your breast were nipped with cold; you'd made your skirts wonderfully layered also — a swelling blood red silk underskirt covered with a sheer, glittering gold fabric, with two overskirts in damask patterns, sable and cream and sun-spun.

When you had sewn it, you'd left it hanging in your sparse wardrobe in hopes to wear it on your wedding day.

Now, all that was left was to wear it tonight and walk straight into death; the tangerine glow of the lantern held up in your dainty fingers, lighting the path to the angel of death.

You had never thought your mother would arrange your marriage to the worst man in the village. Your beauty was sought by every boy and man of the village, and you'd hoped your mother would match you to the sweet butcher's boy across the street.

Keigo, his name is; a boy with hair spun off golden sunflowers and eyes that glitter like topaz under moonshine, sharp as a hawk. He gave you candied cherries once, the tart fruit dipped in hardened sugar water, and he'd smiled so shyly after.

Instead, your mother betrothed you to Touya, the eldest son of the village chief. You had wanted to cry as the man's intense, electric-blue eyes blazed flames into your skin as your mother and his father discussed the engagement.

Everyone knew of Touya, the enigmatic eldest son covered in gnarly, mulberry scars and strange silver rings and snow-white hair, rumours circled like wisps of smoke that he had been set alight with fire by a witch as a young boy. Worse, rumours said that the young man dabbled in dark magic.

You wouldn't marry a man like that, which is why you'll die.

In the forest.

(Don't go.)

Your lantern only illuminates the trees in front of you, just a few steps away into certain death. Webs shimmer like meshed steel in front of you as you take a ginger step inside, the slow crunch of a leaf below your boots is the only indicator something exists inside.

Almost immediately inside the forest, something shifts.

You can't tell what it is but it's there.

Red.

Your eyes become deer-like, large and frightened, and you turn around, wanting to head back but you find that the path back... isn't there, just endless forbidden forest.

That can't be.

Something gets stuck in your throat from panic, like a globe of cloth that makes your throat dry.

You keep walking, your legs a lot heavier now, something akin to logs.

The world around you seems to shift, a sepulchre silence heavier than the cloak on your shoulders. The trees held the macabre stench of blood, speckles of fungied moss glistening like wet witch dust on its mottled bark; the branches twist toward the sky like dark, skeletal fingers, reaching for the stars that winked down from a velvet expanse.

The moon is hideous tonight.

A whispering breath, no, a breeze, shifts through the lines of the forest and your body. It sounds old, perhaps a little sad. It beckons you.

In the back of your head, you can hear the sound of children singing.

Ring-a, ring-a rosies-

There's a beat of a drum, somewhere deep in the darkness where your lantern's weak light can't reach. A drum, a drum- A beating heart.

a pocket full of-

Enchantment twists and coils around you like a serpent, why are your eyes so-?

posies!

The phantasmal gas becomes the damp breath of the forest.

Shadows dance at the corners of your vision.

Your senses begin to reel, ethereal and monstrous and real suddenly not all the same.

A tissue! A tissue!

Flickering shapes form and die behind the trees; those shapes try to reach hands towards you, scintillating and fading.

The sound of a child wailing echoes throughout the forest, haunting the glades, and pouring into some desolate space elsewhere.

When did you start crying? Why are you running?

Someone is trying to hush you, the sound a hollow echoing, more like the ballad of a crumbling cathedral, like fingers of shadow snuffing out the lights.

Why did you go?

Don't go.

We all-

Arthritic brambles catch on your dress for a moment, gnarled with age, snapping like bones as your boots slap through the sounds of the night.

Something spidery slips into your mind, nails sinking deep into the goo of your brain. The distorted image of your parents flashes before your eyes, the grotesque form of the sun-haired boy, the sweetness of electric-blue eyes.

Time loses meaning; minutes stretch into hours as you drift between consciousness and the realm of the lost. In this state, the boundaries of your existence waver like the edges of a dream, fraying like the gossamer threads in your gown.

Fall-

The night sky above transforms into a kaleidescope, the stars becoming blurs of light, something sinister flashing in front of your pupils instead.

In that one moment, you live hundreds of lifetimes, the beat of the drum getting louder, the singing even more so. You see it all: flowery childhoods and fantasies of a lover and children with his blue eyes and your tears at his funeral-

Down!

All you can do is shriek as you fall, dress dirtying.

It's silent again.

You look up and you freeze.

A deep pool of glittering, gemstone-blue expanding here, a stream behind it, most likely leading to the seas. It's stunning; glimmering like star gleam, burbling and thrumming like a child blowing bubbles into a cup. It lights up the rest of the forest around you, ripples reflecting across tree bark.

You reach out a hand just to touch, fingertips trembling just about to touch the surface.

A hand encloses around your wrist.

You don't have it in you to shriek a second time as blood-curdling eyes meet yours.

His eyes are red. Vivid, vibrant, violent.

He's simmering with cruel intent, volcanic and about erupt, but he's strangely calm, something hypnotic in his gaze and bluish hair falling in front of his ashy face.

The hand around your wrist is gentle. Thick, long fingers, and a broad, heavy palm; made to destroy, you don't doubt his touch is decaying.

He's half-submerged in water, the upper half of his body all sinewy muscle and the lower half... beneath the blue water, you think you see black swishing around; pulsating like a jellyfish.

"...A human," he murmurs with a heavy tongue, and you can see the gills flare . "So pretty."

Then everything about him changes, that eerie calmness you had caught before disappears as he smiles at the way your mind screams, your eyes bloodshot and terrified.

There;s something rotten in the way he quirks his lips up.

His teeth have the same glint as blood-drenched bones, like flesh ripped out of a body, like hot red swallowing you whole.

"Why are you here, little girl?" he asks, hissing through calcite.

The hand around your delicate wrist tightens.

Run.

Don't.

"I- I- I-" you stammer uselessly. "I- No, I-"

"Shh, 's okay." His other clawed hand comes to touch the plump of your cheek, talons gently tracing soothing patterns. "You don't have to... say a word."

His voice is sultry, soft... It's almost mesmerising.

The fingers on your wrist dance to the back of your hand as he traces the veins there, as if he wants to rip them out and sew himself a tail from them.

He entwines your hands together tenderly.

"Such hardworking hands," he coos, eyes taking in the sight of all the pricks from needling away at dresses. "You need to unwind." His eyes flicker to yours and he gives a half-smile half-smirk, almost genuine. "I can help with that."

His grin is lopsided, those red eyes glimmer, the incandescence of them illusory. "You want to...?"

Your vision becomes hazy, blurring like it did earlier, only this time it's much more relaxing. Like sleep spindles wrapping around your sore joints.

"You missed me, right? You came here all the way to see me, 'm honoured," he murmurs, mouth against your knuckles before pulling back just a little. Another flow. "You came here to see me, right?"

You can't remember now.

Why... did you...?

Why do you feel so disoriented?

"You're the sweetest, you know." The large, gentle hand on your cheek moves to the back of your head, sinking into your hair and bringing you closer to his mouth. You try and shake your head to fight away the warm haze. It's useless. "I've been feeling hungr- Lonely, for so long."

Both his hands cup your jaw now, thumbs caressing the lines he can find on you.

"You're lonely too, right...?" he murmurs and you find yourself nodding along, the gills on his neck flare. "It'd be nice if... you'd join me, here, in the waters." His voice is a whisper now, his mouth inching closer. "I bet you'd like it. My voice is prettier below as well, do you want to hear?"

You blink, frazzled.

The fingers on your face dig in a little harder.

"It'd be nice, you know, listening to beautiful songs with me," he says, "I just adore singing, especially at deaths, it's why everyone calls me Shigaraki. I bet you have a beautiful name, too."

But you don't say it, all you can hear is his name on repeat, like sea froth and foam on the red tip of your tongue.

"Beautiful girls like you deserve pleasure, you know...?" he whispers. "Do you want to...?"

You don't know why you nod.

But he kisses you. It's cold and his teeth gnash against yours, something in it is desperate as his claws make quick work of ruining your beloved dress.

Whatever he does, it keep the oxygen in your lung as he hauls you into the glowing pool that has become duller below it.

He's gorgeous in the water, in all his tentacled glory, and his eyes are burning red to keep the magick of remaining docile on you.

His lower half is the most bizarre thing you'd ever seen: blacker than squid ink at midnight, obsidian veins creeping up on abdomen and then his lower half splitting into eight meaty tentacles.

He grabs you by the throat this time, kissing you with his forked tongue, fangs nipping into the fat of your gasping bottom lip, the other hand holding your head.

You're entirely nude; soft legs floating in the water, virgin cunt exposed, the plump of your ass glimmering. He pulls back, grinning like a warping shadow as his hands touch your swollen breasts.

It all happens at once.

A slimy tentacle wraps around your leg, the other twinning the action, suckling onto your shins and knees and thighs, and he spreads you apart like a starfish, uncaring for how your hips almost shatter from the pressure.

Another tentacles winds itself like a gutless animal around your stomach and squeezes tight enough that all you'd eaten comes gurgling out in a cloud of yellow. The tentacle is large enough to sheathe around your tits, the suckers across the tentacles are like reverberating mouths on your nipples. Within seconds, your nipples are raw and bitten, expanding to twice their size obsenely.

Shigaraki grins as you let out a strangled moan before he shoves a bulky tentacle in your mouth causing your eyes to almost pop out your skull as it goes down into your thoat so that it almost explodes from expanding to fit the thing.

It's gorgeous how sweetly you let him thrust the throbbing tentacle in and out, even sweeter how you scream around it as he doubles down on your sugary pussy and ass.

It hurts so much you can't even feel it inside your stomach, the tentacle on your breasts moving up to squeeze at your throat.

Your stomach convulses from the gruesome size of him, hammering into your womb like a savage barbarian in a brothel. You catch sight of the merman through your tears; his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, mouth hanging open in a vulgar moan, and he was right, he does sound prettier under water.

Your blood is clear in the water as he fucks you, tentacles and sucker clamping and sucking and thrusting on the inside and out.

You're going to die like this, with this monster making you the prettiest human cumdump-

The flames of dark magic suddenly bleed into the waters, severing the tentacles of your captor, the spell breaking and you screech, watching as the monster flails about, blood gushing and staining the pool red as the cut tentacles float.

All you feel is unfamiliar hands holding onto you and swimming out of the waters.

The last thing you remember seeing is electric-blue eyes.

[theshinazugawaslut]

I'm so, so, so glad you enjoyed it, babe! Thank you do much <3

𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑻𝑶𝑩𝑬𝑹 𝑫𝑨𝒀 #𝟐 — 💀🎃 "𝑪𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎 & 𝑭𝒓𝒐𝒕𝒉" 𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒂𝒓𝒂𝒌𝒊 𝒕𝒐𝒎𝒖𝒓𝒂 / 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒂𝒄𝒍𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒙

tw/cw: dubious consent, mentions of attempting suicide

Don't go, don't go, don't go, don't go.

It's the first thing you had learned as a young bumbling girl, back when you'd clutch onto your mother's cold hand tightly and ask in a high, squealing voice about the woods you had found out were strictly forbidden.

"Don't go in there," your mother had said in a hushed tone, "there are awful people in there; ones who will offer you ruby-red apples with the magick of eternity's youth, but you mustn't ever take them, my baby, and if you even manage to get away from the faeries and witches and wolves, then you will reach the ocean infested with all sorts of monsters. You don't wish to be eaten by a half-bird half-fish now, would you?"

So you'd always been wary of the forest, as a little girl to a lady, living a respectful life at the village.

You spent days embroidering satin gowns with arcipluvian birds and cutting sweetheart necklines with a healer's steady hand and stitching diamond-encrusted bodices into tulle skirts; all the uninteresting things that come with being a dressmaker's daughter.

Though tonight, you'd long abandoned the box of jewels and the slim needle that had become a tender muscle in your mind, left them by the melting candle on your bedside.

Your shoulders donned a blood-red cloak made of velvet, your gown glittering under the night sky; you'd stitched it yourself from the spare fabric of a rich woman who often visited your family's little shop in the village. It was a lovely thing and it was your most prized possession: the bodice was nice and fitted, ivory in colour with rose and aureate embellishments, low and tight so that the clear spheres of your breast were nipped with cold; you'd made your skirts wonderfully layered also — a swelling blood red silk underskirt covered with a sheer, glittering gold fabric, with two overskirts in damask patterns, sable and cream and sun-spun.

When you had sewn it, you'd left it hanging in your sparse wardrobe in hopes to wear it on your wedding day.

Now, all that was left was to wear it tonight and walk straight into death; the tangerine glow of the lantern held up in your dainty fingers, lighting the path to the angel of death.

You had never thought your mother would arrange your marriage to the worst man in the village. Your beauty was sought by every boy and man of the village, and you'd hoped your mother would match you to the sweet butcher's boy across the street.

Keigo, his name is; a boy with hair spun off golden sunflowers and eyes that glitter like topaz under moonshine, sharp as a hawk. He gave you candied cherries once, the tart fruit dipped in hardened sugar water, and he'd smiled so shyly after.

Instead, your mother betrothed you to Touya, the eldest son of the village chief. You had wanted to cry as the man's intense, electric-blue eyes blazed flames into your skin as your mother and his father discussed the engagement.

Everyone knew of Touya, the enigmatic eldest son covered in gnarly, mulberry scars and strange silver rings and snow-white hair, rumours circled like wisps of smoke that he had been set alight with fire by a witch as a young boy. Worse, rumours said that the young man dabbled in dark magic.

You wouldn't marry a man like that, which is why you'll die.

In the forest.

(Don't go.)

Your lantern only illuminates the trees in front of you, just a few steps away into certain death. Webs shimmer like meshed steel in front of you as you take a ginger step inside, the slow crunch of a leaf below your boots is the only indicator something exists inside.

Almost immediately inside the forest, something shifts.

You can't tell what it is but it's there.

Red.

Your eyes become deer-like, large and frightened, and you turn around, wanting to head back but you find that the path back... isn't there, just endless forbidden forest.

That can't be.

Something gets stuck in your throat from panic, like a globe of cloth that makes your throat dry.

You keep walking, your legs a lot heavier now, something akin to logs.

The world around you seems to shift, a sepulchre silence heavier than the cloak on your shoulders. The trees held the macabre stench of blood, speckles of fungied moss glistening like wet witch dust on its mottled bark; the branches twist toward the sky like dark, skeletal fingers, reaching for the stars that winked down from a velvet expanse.

The moon is hideous tonight.

A whispering breath, no, a breeze, shifts through the lines of the forest and your body. It sounds old, perhaps a little sad. It beckons you.

In the back of your head, you can hear the sound of children singing.

Ring-a, ring-a rosies-

There's a beat of a drum, somewhere deep in the darkness where your lantern's weak light can't reach. A drum, a drum- A beating heart.

a pocket full of-

Enchantment twists and coils around you like a serpent, why are your eyes so-?

posies!

The phantasmal gas becomes the damp breath of the forest.

Shadows dance at the corners of your vision.

Your senses begin to reel, ethereal and monstrous and real suddenly not all the same.

A tissue! A tissue!

Flickering shapes form and die behind the trees; those shapes try to reach hands towards you, scintillating and fading.

The sound of a child wailing echoes throughout the forest, haunting the glades, and pouring into some desolate space elsewhere.

When did you start crying? Why are you running?

Someone is trying to hush you, the sound a hollow echoing, more like the ballad of a crumbling cathedral, like fingers of shadow snuffing out the lights.

Why did you go?

Don't go.

We all-

Arthritic brambles catch on your dress for a moment, gnarled with age, snapping like bones as your boots slap through the sounds of the night.

Something spidery slips into your mind, nails sinking deep into the goo of your brain. The distorted image of your parents flashes before your eyes, the grotesque form of the sun-haired boy, the sweetness of electric-blue eyes.

Time loses meaning; minutes stretch into hours as you drift between consciousness and the realm of the lost. In this state, the boundaries of your existence waver like the edges of a dream, fraying like the gossamer threads in your gown.

Fall-

The night sky above transforms into a kaleidescope, the stars becoming blurs of light, something sinister flashing in front of your pupils instead.

In that one moment, you live hundreds of lifetimes, the beat of the drum getting louder, the singing even more so. You see it all: flowery childhoods and fantasies of a lover and children with his blue eyes and your tears at his funeral-

Down!

All you can do is shriek as you fall, dress dirtying.

It's silent again.

You look up and you freeze.

A deep pool of glittering, gemstone-blue expanding here, a stream behind it, most likely leading to the seas. It's stunning; glimmering like star gleam, burbling and thrumming like a child blowing bubbles into a cup. It lights up the rest of the forest around you, ripples reflecting across tree bark.

You reach out a hand just to touch, fingertips trembling just about to touch the surface.

A hand encloses around your wrist.

You don't have it in you to shriek a second time as blood-curdling eyes meet yours.

His eyes are red. Vivid, vibrant, violent.

He's simmering with cruel intent, volcanic and about erupt, but he's strangely calm, something hypnotic in his gaze and bluish hair falling in front of his ashy face.

The hand around your wrist is gentle. Thick, long fingers, and a broad, heavy palm; made to destroy, you don't doubt his touch is decaying.

He's half-submerged in water, the upper half of his body all sinewy muscle and the lower half... beneath the blue water, you think you see black swishing around; pulsating like a jellyfish.

"...A human," he murmurs with a heavy tongue, and you can see the gills flare . "So pretty."

Then everything about him changes, that eerie calmness you had caught before disappears as he smiles at the way your mind screams, your eyes bloodshot and terrified.

There;s something rotten in the way he quirks his lips up.

His teeth have the same glint as blood-drenched bones, like flesh ripped out of a body, like hot red swallowing you whole.

"Why are you here, little girl?" he asks, hissing through calcite.

The hand around your delicate wrist tightens.

Run.

Don't.

"I- I- I-" you stammer uselessly. "I- No, I-"

"Shh, 's okay." His other clawed hand comes to touch the plump of your cheek, talons gently tracing soothing patterns. "You don't have to... say a word."

His voice is sultry, soft... It's almost mesmerising.

The fingers on your wrist dance to the back of your hand as he traces the veins there, as if he wants to rip them out and sew himself a tail from them.

He entwines your hands together tenderly.

"Such hardworking hands," he coos, eyes taking in the sight of all the pricks from needling away at dresses. "You need to unwind." His eyes flicker to yours and he gives a half-smile half-smirk, almost genuine. "I can help with that."

His grin is lopsided, those red eyes glimmer, the incandescence of them illusory. "You want to...?"

Your vision becomes hazy, blurring like it did earlier, only this time it's much more relaxing. Like sleep spindles wrapping around your sore joints.

"You missed me, right? You came here all the way to see me, 'm honoured," he murmurs, mouth against your knuckles before pulling back just a little. Another flow. "You came here to see me, right?"

You can't remember now.

Why... did you...?

Why do you feel so disoriented?

"You're the sweetest, you know." The large, gentle hand on your cheek moves to the back of your head, sinking into your hair and bringing you closer to his mouth. You try and shake your head to fight away the warm haze. It's useless. "I've been feeling hungr- Lonely, for so long."

Both his hands cup your jaw now, thumbs caressing the lines he can find on you.

"You're lonely too, right...?" he murmurs and you find yourself nodding along, the gills on his neck flare. "It'd be nice if... you'd join me, here, in the waters." His voice is a whisper now, his mouth inching closer. "I bet you'd like it. My voice is prettier below as well, do you want to hear?"

You blink, frazzled.

The fingers on your face dig in a little harder.

"It'd be nice, you know, listening to beautiful songs with me," he says, "I just adore singing, especially at deaths, it's why everyone calls me Shigaraki. I bet you have a beautiful name, too."

But you don't say it, all you can hear is his name on repeat, like sea froth and foam on the red tip of your tongue.

"Beautiful girls like you deserve pleasure, you know...?" he whispers. "Do you want to...?"

You don't know why you nod.

But he kisses you. It's cold and his teeth gnash against yours, something in it is desperate as his claws make quick work of ruining your beloved dress.

Whatever he does, it keep the oxygen in your lung as he hauls you into the glowing pool that has become duller below it.

He's gorgeous in the water, in all his tentacled glory, and his eyes are burning red to keep the magick of remaining docile on you.

His lower half is the most bizarre thing you'd ever seen: blacker than squid ink at midnight, obsidian veins creeping up on abdomen and then his lower half splitting into eight meaty tentacles.

He grabs you by the throat this time, kissing you with his forked tongue, fangs nipping into the fat of your gasping bottom lip, the other hand holding your head.

You're entirely nude; soft legs floating in the water, virgin cunt exposed, the plump of your ass glimmering. He pulls back, grinning like a warping shadow as his hands touch your swollen breasts.

It all happens at once.

A slimy tentacle wraps around your leg, the other twinning the action, suckling onto your shins and knees and thighs, and he spreads you apart like a starfish, uncaring for how your hips almost shatter from the pressure.

Another tentacles winds itself like a gutless animal around your stomach and squeezes tight enough that all you'd eaten comes gurgling out in a cloud of yellow. The tentacle is large enough to sheathe around your tits, the suckers across the tentacles are like reverberating mouths on your nipples. Within seconds, your nipples are raw and bitten, expanding to twice their size obsenely.

Shigaraki grins as you let out a strangled moan before he shoves a bulky tentacle in your mouth causing your eyes to almost pop out your skull as it goes down into your thoat so that it almost explodes from expanding to fit the thing.

It's gorgeous how sweetly you let him thrust the throbbing tentacle in and out, even sweeter how you scream around it as he doubles down on your sugary pussy and ass.

It hurts so much you can't even feel it inside your stomach, the tentacle on your breasts moving up to squeeze at your throat.

Your stomach convulses from the gruesome size of him, hammering into your womb like a savage barbarian in a brothel. You catch sight of the merman through your tears; his eyes have rolled to the back of his head, mouth hanging open in a vulgar moan, and he was right, he does sound prettier under water.

Your blood is clear in the water as he fucks you, tentacles and sucker clamping and sucking and thrusting on the inside and out.

You're going to die like this, with this monster making you the prettiest human cumdump-

The flames of dark magic suddenly bleed into the waters, severing the tentacles of your captor, the spell breaking and you screech, watching as the monster flails about, blood gushing and staining the pool red as the cut tentacles float.

All you feel is unfamiliar hands holding onto you and swimming out of the waters.

The last thing you remember seeing is electric-blue eyes.

[theshinazugawaslut]

Every time i see some gross fuckboy content on my timeline i come here to be at peace and comfort 😌 i love virgin men

First of all, thank you so much for letting me be your peace and comfort!

Second of all, you ain't NEVER EVER seeing fuckboy content on my page, like, EVER.

I hate that it's so normalised to write fuck-boy (or just high body count characters, I consider 3+ high personally) characters yet apparently 'unrealistic' or 'delusional' to write virgin/inexperienced men, like, just because bro acts scary or is 'too old' to be a virgin is just dumb. I know lots of men and women who are STILL chaste in their big ass ages (and if you're not, I don't care, do you).

Fuckboys are SOOOOOOO gross, I don't know why in every fanfic I read it's always like 'even though he's had so many girls, you're special!' like no please get away from me.

My page is my own safe space. I don't write boyfriends, I write HUSBANDS.