incelgyutarotruther

[incelgyutarotruther]

TAGLIST

eyyo. So, finally decided to make a taglist. either comment, reblog this post, send me a DM and I'll slap ya name onto the taglist. Taglist is added below, buh-bye.

[incelgyutarotruther]

gonna be reworking how my blog is laid out, again, no fics for a bit.

[incelgyutarotruther]

can i have obanai that tries bdsm for the first time and actually loves it

THREE MEALS A DAY ! [18+]

(Requested) Obanai only wanted to prove Tengen wrong, but he didn't expect obedience to taste this good !

Getting tied up and fucked by his own tsuguko is humiliating.

At least, that’s how Obanai would like to think of it. 

In his defense, he wouldn’t be in this position if it weren’t for Tengen running his damn mouth again, mocking his non-existent sex life and calling him a “basic vanilla bitch”—which is a far too generous assumption in the first place.

The thought of anyone seeing his body, let alone touching it, makes Obanai's skin crawl, but he wasn’t about to let that flamboyant bastard be right about everything. 

So, in a rare fit of impulsivity—and definitely not desperation—he came to you.

You, his capable, and infuriatingly confident tsuguko. You aren’t loud about your sex life at all, but you didn’t have to be. Obanai could just tell you know exactly how to handle someone. Exactly how to ruin them.

Which is what lands the Snake Hashira here: crimson rope pressing hard against his pale skin, blindfolded, and gagged.

You’ve been working him over for what feels like hours now, dragging him past the brink again and again until his body is weak from exhaustion. He feels so unbearably good, so overwhelmed, it feels like agony. If you keep going, he swears it might just kill him…And he almost hopes it does.

You reach out to remove the gag from his mouth, now slick with his drool, and let it fall carelessly to the side. Saliva trails down his chin in glistening strands as he pants through his swollen lips.

“Color?” You ask.

“G-Green,” he moans weakly, chest heaving as he gasps for air. “Green, please, please—”

You smile, trailing your fingers down to his ass. Your palm caresses the curve of it, the skin flushed and tender beneath your hand from the attention you've given it. The little moles and marks scattered across his skin are simply adorable, and you take your time to press wet kisses over each one.

“That’s my good boy,” you murmur, your lips trailing up to the back of his thigh. You sink your teeth into the flesh, giving him a playful bite, and he gives you a little cry.

“No whining,” you warn, pressing the gag firmly back between his lips. You can almost see Obanai’s glassy eyes flicking up to meet yours through the blindfold, silently begging for mercy you have no intention of giving.

“You don’t even know how pretty you look, do you?” You sigh, leaning forward to brush the hair sticking to his forehead.

Of course he doesn’t. Obanai can’t bring himself to believe he looks anything but pathetic like this—stripped bare, bound tight, his body slick with sweat and spit. It’s humiliating, the way his cock rests flushed against his stomach, leaking endlessly like it has a mind of its own despite cumming so many times already. He aches to touch himself, but his hands are tied behind his back, useless. It terrifies him how much control you have over him, but at the same time, it feels so fucking good.

Obanai groans as your palm lands across his cheek, the force knocking the gag loose from his mouth. His back arches, tears sliding from under the blindfold, dripping down his flushed cheeks.

“I asked you a question, didn’t I?”

He whimpers, head jerking in a frantic series of nods. Obanai never imagined degradation could feel like this—every humiliating moment leaves him spinning, drunk on submission.

You reach forward, brushing the tears away with your thumb. “Answer me.”

“Uh huh, uh huh,” he babbles, head lolling back as your fingers wrap tightly around his cock. He’s too far gone to even remember his manners now. “I—Wanna see you, wanna see you…”

“Yeah?” You murmur, voice low as you lazily stroke his cock, thumb smearing the slick mess of his cum along the sensitive head and down the length. “I suppose you have been good.”

You reach up and slowly peel the damp blindfold from his eyes, and the sight makes your breath catch. He looks absolutely fucked. His wet lashes flutter as he blinks into the light, pupils blown wide, cheeks flushed a deep, delicious red. There’s nothing behind his eyes but lust—love hearts stamped right into them.

You bring your other hand down to gently knead his aching balls, drawing another broken whine as you push him further into overstimulation. “Think you can cum again for me?”

He can’t. God, he really, really can’t. Obanai’s already lost count of how many times he’s cum for you. His cock hurts, and his lower half is practically numb from your relentless spanking. But still—he wants to please you.

“Y-Yeah,” he mewls, squirming against the ropes.

You reward him with a soft kiss to the side of his cock, then a sweeter one to the corner of his mouth. “That’s a good boy, yeah?”

Obanai shudders, the praise going straight to his dick. His body jerks with each stroke, pressing back into the ropes that bite into his skin; he already knows that marks will linger for days, but he really couldn’t care less.

“H-Haah,” he sobs, desperately tugging at the ropes binding his arms to stop you. “W-Wait, I—I don’t think I can cum anymore—please—”

“Oh, but you will,” you coo. “You’re going to cum for me again like the obedient little thing you are.”

And he does. He cums with a strangled cry, cock twitching in your hand as another sticky load spills out. It’s less than before, but the release hits him harder, his whole body shaking from the force of it.

You scoop some of his cum from his abdomen with two fingers and press them to his lips.

“Open,” you command, voice sweet as you rub your slick fingers against his lips. “Taste yourself.”

Obanai moans weakly, parting his lips. His tongue slides out obediently to lick your digits before sucking your fingers into his mouth, moaning around them as he tastes the bitterness of his cum. You hum in approval.

“Taste good?” You tease, withdrawing your fingers with a soft, wet pop, and finally giving him the kiss he’s been waiting for for so long. 

“Mhm.”

“Good, because this was just your breakfast,” you murmur, eyes darkening as you cup his cheeks. “We still have lunch and dinner to get through.”

[incelgyutarotruther]

"Pretty Please?"

M!Reader x Rengoku

Content Warnings; Edging. Begging, crying. Mean!Reader, Can be read as strap if you squint.

Rengoku was a sun of a man. He was all smiles, comforting words, and warm hugs. It was just apart of who he was, really. He was a kind person! But, he had his moments.

Like when he had been out, in more 'civilian' like clothing, getting food and drinks with you- Smiled too much at the server. Purposely let his gaze linger a bit too long, a bit too low.

Now, he was face down in your shared bed, arms pinned above his head by fine red silk, the fabric slightly damp with the sweat that was rolling off of him in what could only be described as waves. His hair had long since fallen out the small tie, his eyes hazy, red. And the mushroom head of his dick? That was as red as his hair.

He let another shuddering sob out, clenching around you. Buried deep as you could get in his ass, his thighs burning as the shook- Trying to keep his weight up. A sob forcing from his throat as your hand wrapped around his dick again.

"Kyojuro. Are you paying attention?" His head nodded fast enough to make himself dizy, drool blinking down his mouth, panting and almost wheezing.

"uh-huh. uh-huh." He blabbered- speaking was hard okay- a sneering laugh escaping from your throat as you started to bully his hole again, tilting your head at the sobbing moans leaving his throat.

"You want to cum?"

"yu- yuh.. uh-huh!" He breathed out, eyes rolling into his skull.

"Say please."

"Pretty Please?"

He swore his ears rang with how hard he came. Well. He wasn't exactly sure- He blacked out for a second when he did.

A/N; As usual, written for my Beautiful @kantsuri.

[incelgyutarotruther]

a moment of silence for this meme i made when i was 13

[incelgyutarotruther]

tf am I, chopped liver??

Why do you only write smut? 😥

Because I get no bitches

[incelgyutarotruther]

who the actual fuck do you think you are, anon, talking to her like that? Get the fuck off anon, motherfucker. If you're going to fucking say something, own up to it, pussy.

imagine being so sad that you ship yourself with a fictional character and write smut about it- INSANE

Imagine being so sad that the only action you're ever gonna get in your miserable life is with your hand and a toothbrush 💗

[incelgyutarotruther]

broo your such a simp did you actually say 'your wish is my command'

1, GET OFF MY DICK BRO, 2, I am absolutely a simp for my girlfriend who isn't my girlfriend.

[incelgyutarotruther]

MIRACLE WORKER !

You're the perfect employee, but Douma’s not fooled. He taunts you, pushes your buttons, and you let him—because maybe the only thing worse than feeling nothing is realizing that he might be the one to change that.

“This is sad, even for you.”

You look up from your desk and Douma watches as you glare up at him like he’s something you just scraped off your boot. You tug at the hem of your uniform, trying to get yourself together. 

“You’re a fucking ass.”

“Maybe,” he says, smile widening. “But you did this to yourself.”

You wave him off like a buzzing gnat, sweeping your scattered papers back into order. 

“I’m not in the mood to play your games, go away.”

“No.”

You groan.

“I know you like watching me suffer, but can’t you do it from your own desk?”

He could. In fact, he’s made a career out of it. Douma has spent countless hours watching you from across the office, his work barely touched while you run yourself ragged. Always helping. Always apologizing. Always giving too much. 

You—the overachieving martyr.

But then again, he gets the appeal. You fold so easily under pressure, nodding, smiling, agreeing. Like a perfect little sheep dressed up in a company badge. Or at least, that’s what you want everyone else to believe.

“Need a hand?” He mocks.

“No.”

“I see what you did there. Mean,” he pouts, eyebrows drooping dramatically.  You roll your eyes, it’s offensive how good he is at it.

“Leave me alone before I hurt you.”

See, this is why he thinks you’re fun. You’ll roll over for everyone else, let them walk you like a dog, but you don’t even hesitate to send bullets his way. Douma has confronted you about this before, and no matter how many times you tell him it’s because he’s a piece of shit, he finds the reason that he’s special more fitting.

“You treat me differently, ever wonder why that is?”

“Hmm, could it be the part where you’re insufferable?”

“I prefer charismatic.”

“I prefer delusional.”

Douma is no fool. That docility? Just a mask you wear to make life more manageable. You're not nearly as helpless as you pretend to be; you’re hiding something from everyone that they can’t accept. Most importantly, from yourself that you can’t accept.

“Did you really just threaten a co-worker?” He gasps, placing a hand over his chest.

“Is that really so surprising?”

Douma smiles as you gather stacks of folders and place it in front of you, trying to shield yourself from him. You have nothing to gain by playing office janitor. You’re already miles above everyone else in this office. You don’t need to win anyone over—but you do it anyway. If anything, you should be displeased that half these deadweights can’t do their jobs and somehow still have the nerve to hand you their excuses like they’re favors.

You see right through them, Douma can tell. And yet you look past that.

You want them to like you because you don’t like yourself.

You want to be needed because otherwise you’re nothing.

You don’t do it because you’re kind.

You do it because you’re pathetic.

Douma loves people like that.

And you treat him differently because he sees you.

You hate that.

“Anyway, what are you still doing here?”

“I just like you so much. I can’t bear to be apart from you.”

“Douma, I swear to God, I will kill you.”

And there it is—that bite. If you are going to fake a personality, you really should’ve gone with this instead of the corporate houseplant routine. He certainly likes you more this way.

“Well, maybe then you’d feel something.”

You pause.

You don’t turn around.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

His smile falters for a split second.

──────

“Someone looks tired.”

“So you start at 8 am now?”

Douma shrugs, shoving your papers and meaningless decorations to the side of your desk. He makes a show of sitting on your table, blocking your view from your computer screen.

“Get your fat ass off of my table.”

“It’s bad for you, you know,” he says cheerfully. “This much overtime.”

“Wow. Thank you, Doctor Douma. Do you also treat migraines with a hammer?”

“Well—”

A junior employee arrives at that moment, interrupting his comeback. 

“Ah, Douma-san and [Name]-san! Good morning!”

Douma watches as you greet him politely, your anger now replaced with a shy smile. You’re good at that, aren’t you? “Good morning. What’s up, Hanase-kun?”

The boy scratches the back of his neck. “So, uh… I have this thing later I have to go to, and I was hoping you could maybe help me with this file—just this once!”

You glance at Douma. He looks like a cat in front of a fishbowl. He smirks back at you, running his hand through his white locks.

“I…”

“Please, [Name]-san. You’re the only one I can turn to for help.”

You grab the folder from his hand. 

Hanase leaves victorious, the man sitting on your desk even more so. Watching you allow yourself to be used has always been amusing, but watching it this close is even more fun. He can only sit and wait until you finally break.

“You know, while you’ll be here doing his work, he’ll probably be out drinking, right? Maybe he’ll send you a thank-you text from karaoke.”

“I know.”

Douma leans down, and looks at you. Really looks at you, scrutinizing your face like it’s a case file. 

“So why did you do it?”

You push his face away with a hand.

“Because…”

He fills the gaps for you in his head.

If I’m useful, I’m worth something.

I’m trying to distract myself.

If I solve everyone else’s problems, mine will go away on its own.

I’m empty.

“...I want to.”

You look him in the eye. He smiles, making a pleased sound.  

“Everyone lies.”

You sigh, looking down at your work to start. “He’s a stupid kid, it’s fine.”

“No,” Douma grins, shaking his head. “I was talking about you.”

──────

Douma has spent his entire existence suspended in a mockery of life—feigning emotions he cannot feel, mimicking the way others smile, laugh, cry. He knows what people expect, and he knows how to give it to them. But in truth, there is nothing inside him.

Sure, there are things he likes and dislikes—flavors he enjoys, aesthetics he favors—but none of it register as real feelings. He doesn’t know the ache of sorrow, the thrill of joy, or the sting of betrayal. Emotions are concepts to him, not experiences.

You’re not like him. He knows that.

Because unlike him, you’re filling your emptiness with people—helping them, comforting them, performing kindness. Douma sees through you. It’s not compassion, it’s pathetic. A desperate attempt to feel something by reflecting other people’s need for you. You think it makes you human. You think it means you're alive.

You put yourself through misery because you need it to feel something, anything.

You're wrong, of course. Pain and people aren’t what you need.

He is.

He’s all you need and more.

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

Douma stands there, placing one hand over his chest as if your words have wounded him.

“What? Can’t a man enjoy a nice evening stroll?” He asks with exaggerated innocence, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

“Why are you on my fucking doorstep?”

He tilts his head at an unnatural angle, that too-wide smile spreading across his face. He doesn’t look like someone who just wanders anywhere.

“Wanna get a drink with me?” He asks sweetly, and you can’t help but imagine being baited into a trap.

You stare at him, exhausted. “No. Leave me alone.”

You move to close the door, but he’s faster. His foot slides between the door and the frame with casual ease just enough to stop it. Just enough to remind you that you don’t have the final say.

“Come on,” he murmurs, the coo in his voice far too intimate for someone who’s supposed to be your co-worker. “It’s not like I bite. Not unless you ask nicely, of course.”

He watches you hesitate with amusement, your lips pressed into a tight line. He can practically hear your thoughts. You don’t want to. You shouldn’t want to.

“It’s 11 PM. Are you insane?”

“No,” he purrs. “I’m just thirsty.”

“For attention?”

“For you.”

You groan. “Leave before I call the fucking cops, you psycho.”

Douma leans against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. “I know you won’t. Oh come on, [Name]-san, just one drink~”

You deadpan. “Then you’ll leave me the fuck alone?”

He nods. “I’ll try.”

“Good enough for me,” you mutter. “Let me get my things.”

His smile stretches, like a child who's won a game you didn’t even know you were playing.

The bar is nearly empty when you arrive, washed in low red lighting that clings to everything like dried blood.

You’re already halfway through your second drink by the time Douma even touches his glass. You down it like water, and Douma watches your practiced movements. It’s not your first night drinking to forget.

He, on the other hand, sips nothing. He just watches. Elbows on the table, chin resting on folded hands, like he’s at a private showing of your life crumbling before his eyes.

“Why are you so obsessed with me?” You ask, voice slurred slightly around the edges. You laugh, but there’s no real joy in it. You’re laughing at yourself. “You don’t bother anyone else at work nearly as much as you bother me.”

Douma hums, rocking side to side on the bar stool. “It’s because I think you’re so great.”

You snort, glancing at him over your glass. “Right.” You stare into the melting ice. “I know you think I’m pathetic.”

“Oh, come on,” he pouts. “You know that’s not true.”

You laugh again, quieter this time, and shake your head. Your fingers curl tighter around the glass. “You don’t understand, Douma.” You pause, searching the ceiling for words. “I’m helping these people because they need it.”

“You know they don’t.”

You swirl your drink in your hands.

“You need it.”

You stay silent.

“So you brought me here so you could psycho analyze me, huh?”

Douma shakes his head. “Of course not.”

You place your glass down, turning to face him fully. “What do you really want from me?”

He shrugs. “I just wanted to have fun with you.”

“You really are a piece of shit, aren’t you?”

“Mean.”

“Why do you care so much?”

He leans forward.

“You’re empty, aren’t you?” Douma whispers.

It’s not a question.

His smile never fades, staying plastered on his face.

“You don't have any hobbies. You don’t have any interests. You don’t have friends. Everything is a routine to you.”

You don’t look away.

He goes on.

“You’re trying to fill this gaping hole inside of you with people. You’re desperate to feel something, and you think you’ll find happiness by making other people happy. But it’s not working, is it? How long are you gonna keep this up?”

He finishes, finally taking a sip of his drink.

You laugh dryly.

“Wow,” you scoff. “You really think you know everything, huh?”

Douma raises an eyebrow, leaning back against the bar counter. “I know enough.”

The silence stretches between you, thick and heavy. Your fingers curl tightly around your glass.

“Then why don’t you make me feel something?”

[incelgyutarotruther]

you and kantsuri are totally dating bruh

sure bud.

[incelgyutarotruther]

"My precious."

GN!Reader x Kagaya Ubuyashiki.

Content Warnings; Blow Jobs, Reader and Kagaya's relationship isn't specified, Whining, Crying.

Kagaya was a fragile man. He always had been, really. He was healthier, when he was younger. But the curse that plagued his family stole his strength, Eternal punishment for a crime he had no part in doing.

But you? Oh you were their apology. Especially when you were kneeled down, hands cradling his thighs, drooling around his dick.

He had laid down, some time ago. His legs had been locking up, and he didn't want to worry his dear Hashira by falling. But now? Oh he had no doubt that they were all desperately trying to get away from the house.

Kagaya was not a quiet man when you were sucking what little soul he had left in him out. He was a quiet man in everyother aspect of his life- Why should he not enjoy acts like these? And oh fuck.

"A-Ah. My precious. Y-you're gonna ma-make m!-" His voice trailed off in what could only be described as a squeal, blind eyes rolling back in his head, hips bucking up into your awaiting mouth despite his bodies protest.

"Fffuck!" He sobbed, shaky hands tugging at your hair, you had long since tuned the world out, focusing on one thing- Making this man see stars.

"I- I'm-" He attempted to warn you, but it was useless as he came in your throat, body shaking and trembling, tears rolling down his cheeks- Little hiccupping whimpers bullying his already sore throat.

"What are you-" A scream tore from his throat, shaking and bucking his hips away from your mouth-

Your mouth that showed no sign of stopping anytime soon.

A/N; Written for My Beautiful @kantsuri. Y'all like the gradient text? It took me so long to figure it out.

[incelgyutarotruther]

Having to change how my fics are laid out for cool text.. kms.

[incelgyutarotruther]

THE SUN/TSUGIKUNI'S HEARTBREAK

(I HAVE A SERIES OF TAROT CARDS I'VE DONE FOR YORI, MUZAN, AND THE MOONS. I'LL RELEASE THEM IF YOU GUYS ARE INTERESTED !!!)

[incelgyutarotruther]

I'M ACTUALLY SO FUCKING DELUSIONAL I NEED TO GET MEDICATED SOOOOOO BAD

Technically xreader/pov BUT I hate drawing mc bald so I just slapped my hair on them

[incelgyutarotruther]

Are you and kantsuri dating????

brother i WISH. but nah, we ain't, yet.

[incelgyutarotruther]

"Quiet,"

GN!Reader x Kokushibo.

Content Warnings; Public sex, slight possessive Kokushibo, AFAB reader. Muzan calling your asses out at the end.

Kokushibo had no weaknesses. Beside you. Your everything made his many hearts thrum in his chest, the anger that always clouded his mind fade, if just slightly. His lips pressing against you made him calm down, made his shoulders relax.

He also yearned for your cunt like a fiend. He could only compare it to Muzan's blood, the way he wanted it. He could live off your cum, your slick, for the rest of his life without a doubt. He could live in between your thighs without an issue.

That's where he was now. He was a sloppy eater, though. So, he had you on his lap. Your legs wrapped around his- below (above? To the side? Space was fucked in the infinity castle.) The rest of the upper moons, a pleased glint in his many eyes. The middle two were set on you- refusing to leave your form for a single second. The other four bouncing around, making sure the two of you were alone at all times.

Muzan hadn't arrived yet. So, he had no reason to pay attention to anyone else, not really, anyways. His hand gently caressing your hip, one under shirt, fingers ghosting up and down your spine, your quiet whimpers in his ear. Buried so deep inside you it made his senses dull.

His lower set of eyes looking down, just once, to catch how your cunt drooled around him. It took all the willpower he had to not fuck up into you.

"Quiet, My Moon. They will hear you." His voice slipped out, that rare soft curl of his lips all but invisible to anyone that wasn't so Intune with his face as you were. But fuck it was there. A soft, small sigh leaving your lips.

"Can't help it." You would mutter, eyes fluttering shut. Nakime speaking finally, announcing Muzan's arrival. His hands moved, cupping a hand over your mouth. The others might have not heard you, but Muzan? He had probably already smelt you. Best to keep you quiet. He likely wouldn't say anything, as long as you two were quiet, and he didn't fuck fuck you.

It wasn't an important meeting. Muzan calling them the dirt underneath his shoe, blah blah. These happened, every now and then. When Muzan's temper was frayed at the edges. He expected to be teleported back immediately, so he could finally eat you like you deserved, Afterall your cunt was all but sobbing for release, but-

"Kokushibo." Muzan's voiced snapped out, angry. Odd. He was normally the most tolerant to him, He was Muzan's hardest worker, and he hadn't truly failed him more than once. What had he-

"The next time you have sex during one of these meetings, I will personally cut. it. off." The two of you froze- He moved, pulling out, clothing you, and appearing in front of Muzan in the blink of an eye, kneeling and giving a single nod to the man glaring above him. His many eyes darting around- Yeah. Everyone was staring at him.

"..My Apologies, Lord Muzan." He muttered, internally sighing again.

A/N; written for my beautiful @kantsuri.

[incelgyutarotruther]

I GENUINELY CAN'T CONTROL MYSELF IT'S SO FUCKING ANNOYING