Csm Kishibe - Tumblr Posts

Barem Bridge Talk ft. Kishibe and "Katana Man"!

(based on pewdiepies "WHOS MORE LIKELY TO..?" video)

writing skills out of this world, simply amazing

𝗟𝗶𝗾𝘂𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗖𝗼𝗺𝗽𝗮𝗻𝘆

Pairing: Kishibe/Female Reader

Summary: Warm, almost timid lighting for the eyes, the lusting smell of smoke for the nose, and lastly, the accessible taste of alcohol for each tongue. An old fashioned bar is where you found yourself, a shabby establishment you would say. You had only hoped that Kishibe hadn't stood you up again like he had done many times in the past, this was important to you. And time was not so limitless for you. To think of the devil means to resurrect them, and Kishibe was there for company, and you think you'll stay for one more drink for the night.

Word Count: 2037 words

Authors Note: Hello again. This is actually a bonus chapter for my Beam/Female Reader oneshot 'Mistress' I posted a while back. But I realized it could sorta stand as its own fic, so i’m posting it. You can read this without reading my Beam fic and not have too many questions. Now please enjoy. Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated.

Chainsaw Man Masterlist

Death was always just the next step in your warped mind. For a long time, mainly throughout your childhood, you daydreamed about your death, and wondered constantly about what happens after the end. The thoughts started after the Gun Devil massacre, after your two siblings and many others died. Before their deaths you never thought about the end of life, or what happened after the flower decayed. All you knew, as an eight year old, that after all those people bled it was hell on earth. And many lost their faith, many children like yourself lost faith, and the future generation was stuck living a life that was lost.

In your teen years, near the end of high school, you came to a solution; to what exactly happened after death. Hell, nothing. Endlessness, nothingness. And that is what you saw as utter peace. Why care about anything if at the end of every story was just nothing. You thought that for a long time, until one day you saw a beam of light in a solemnly dark well, a light that never stopped shining for you. And now that solution has shifted. Death was still empty and meaningless, but that beam was absent at death. You are self aware enough to realize this. That when you died Beam would have it hard, struggle, and you would be alone yet again with regrets you didn’t understand. He was your only regret in life and death.

The building you found yourself currently residing in was zippy. Warm, almost timid lighting for the eyes, the lusting smell of smoke for the nose, and lastly, the accessible taste of alcohol for each tongue. An old fashioned bar is where you find yourself, a shabby establishment you would say. The rustic brick walls looked and felt almost as rough as the stool cushions. You personally wouldn’t have been surprised if they hadn’t been washed; the cushions probably would have been placed there longer than you had been alive. The building smelled as if the building was on fire, if this bar had fire alarms they would go off constantly due to the cloud of smoke surrounding the area. You walked past an assortment of drunk chumps on your journey to the secluded area of the bar top, you didn’t bother to respond or turn a glance to any who spoke to you. All your mind wondered was if he came, and of course how pissed you'd be if he didn’t show up. You stop in your step, halting beside a seated, lone man. “You actually came, eh Kishibe?” You rested your hand inside your trench coat pockets, looking down at the man who hadn't raised a glance at you.

“Don’t you go feeling special. Just a good excuse to go out drinking,” he stated as he downed the last of his liquor, emptying the glass. “Better than drinking out alone,” he uttered, before finally bothering to look at you, the person who invited him here. Kishibe shamelessly eyed you down for a moment; you weren't wearing your devil-hunter attire like he was. You wore a beige cami top, noticelessly strapless despite the trench coat you wore. The brown trench covered your shoulders, and absorbed the smoke in the air. He brought his eyes back to your face, where he found your eyes boring into his eyes, unimpressed, searching for his soul. Kishibe, as insolent as he is, stared back into your void of a gaze and spouted his thoughts. “and you’re not too bad of a sight.” Your eyes narrowed further.

He’s just as you remembered, and you aren’t saying it was a good thing.  “Oh shaddup, would ya. I’m not interested in old men,” you barked, taking a seat beside the rugged man. “Whiskey on the rocks,” you shouted from your spot to the bartender. The man grumbled and nodded before beginning to cook up your drink, alongside your drink he began wordlessly refilling Kishibe’s, making it known that Kishibe is a ‘regular’. To think of the devil means to resurrect them as Kishibe speaks right after your thought. “I heard you signed a new contract,” he said, “with the Curse devil.” You didn’t deny it. “Yea, that I did. ‘Tis no secret.”

Kishibe digs through his large overcoat as he responds lazily. “That breaks the agreement between you and the Mermaid Devil.” If looks could kill, Kishibe would likely have you in a chokehold before that. Feels like he knows too much about your contract with that damn filthy devil. He was the one who recommended you talk up a contract with that devil when you first started out due to the advantage it would give you over your peers. You remember thinking he was going to come with you, but the bastard never showed up. That’s one of the many reasons why you always think he’s gonna stand you up. Despite that occurrence now being a little over eight years ago. “Yea, I already know,” you growled. “But why be faithful to a devil? That devil ain’t my spouse.” The bartender slid you your glass of whiskey, ice giggling inside, and sounded like wind chimes. Kishibe removed a box of unopened cigarettes, and he shrugged. “You’re not the committed type anyway.” You brought the cup of whiskey to your lips and took a sharp sip before responding. “Yea? Well neither are you, Kishibe.”

Smoke encased your front vision. You turn to find Kishibe now smoking a cigarette from a brand you didn’t know, leaning back in his seat. He stared up at the ceiling, the cigarette hanging from his scared mouth. “The Shark fiend,” he muttered in seemingly no direction. “Fiends partnering with devil hunters. What a buncha comedic shit. Funny you got talked into it.” He crudely placed his elbow on the bar top and grabbed his filled cup of rum. “By Makima I bet.” You dodged his statement, avoiding his morbid interest in your partnership with Beam. “Did you read my email fully or not.” You surely weren't here for chatter, you need a favor, it’s important; you took another sharp sip to ease your creeping nerves. He narrowed his eyes at you, removing the cigarette bud from his mouth to take a quick swig. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t read it. Wouldn’t you think?” Kishibe drowned his mouth, drinking damn near half of the liquor in his glass. “Haven’t talked in four years and you’re asking for favors. The audacity of devil hunters these days,” he grumbled, whipping his face.

It had indeed been four years since you and Kishibe were acquainted. It wasn’t as if back then you both were hanging out on a daily basis, it was just that Kishibe was the only devil hunter you knew. He had trained you and after you were sent to do your own thing you and Kishibe used to drink together once every few weeks. Not much nowadays. The last few years you’ve isolated yourself, until Makima partnered you with Beam, and a glimmer of light absorbed you from inside out. “I’d become an alcoholic if I hung with you too much. I keep a safe distance.” In response Kishibe dryly chuckled, sarcastically. A silence then absorbed the both of you, the sound of drunk patrons and ice hitting glass striking your ears.

You bring the glass of whiskey, and artlessly place your elbow on the bar top beside Kishibe's crudely placed elbow. How romantic, you sardonically thought. “I haven’t told my partner about my new contract,” you said out of the blue, to slowly build on to your request. Kishibe shrugged. “The fiend, eh? Why would you even bother?” Kishibes cup was empty again, and as he spoke smoke eagerily escaped. You turn to gaze at his face subtly. His side profile was sharp, scraggly facial hair showed and the stitched scar running across his left cheek from his mouth declaring its presence. The man was older than you, but that wasn’t why you respected him. You respected him…because he himself embodied life to you. Life's cruel joke.

“I need a favor. Only one,” you said. Kishibe’s eyes did not shift from anticipation nor surprise. He knew why you were here and was just waiting for you to spit it out. “Hurry up and shoot it.” After a second you state your favor, allowing yourself to be…somewhat vulnerable. Perhaps it's the little liquor in you. “I want Beam to be taken care of after I die. I don’t want him suffering when I’m gone,” you state openly. Kishibe’s silence and lack of response intoxicated you with anticipation. He did not blink, or really move, his eyes were still in thought. Smoke covered the dimmed lighted area where you both found yourselves that dilapidated night.

“…You’ve gotten soft over a fiend,” he surmised. “That’s surprising, especially for you.” Not the response you cared for. Honestly, you wanted a sufficient yes or no. Your eyebrows bunch and you unthinkingly lean closer to the man, now shoulder to shoulder. “Oh shaddup, would ya. Yes or no?” He still didn’t give you the response you wanted and he just began to light up another cigarette, throwing out the former one. “How much longer d’ya got?” He caught on rather quickly to your tale. You were telling him you were going to die just like every other devil hunter he’s ever drank with.

He kept his gaze on the burning cigarette in hand, exhaling smoke. Your silence ran on until hitting a finish line of comfort, where you confirmed his assumption. “…The Curse devil said not long. A month or so.” The ice in your whiskey had melted, decayed, sorta like how your life was dissolving by the day till some unknown fate you had no understanding of. “I see,” Kishibe muttered. He didn’t make eye contact, staring down at his foggy, empty glass that lacked substance. “And your last wish is for me to help this fiend,” he added. He was straight on point to your predicament.

The thought of Beam fluttered your heart, you wondered what he was doing now. Probably sleeping in his room at your apartment. If your bosses knew you left Beam alone in your home you’d surely get in trouble but you trusted Beam, you cared for him. “Beam is all I care for, and my only regret when I die.” Kishibe didn’t not speak, he did not interrupt you. “I want him to experience a wave of life, even without me,” you rambled. Kishibe shrugged. “Don’t go expecting me to die or get fired for a fiend or for you.” Kishibe, at that moment, did not understand your relationship with Beam. He just threw it out the window and placed it as you going officially mad.

However, he accepted your request. He’d at the very least try to help you, but like he said prior, he isn’t going to extremes for ya. At his confirmation, you landed your cheek in the palm of your hand, elbow still on the bar table. The dainted light from above hovered over both your hinged souls that lingered too close. “Sure, bud. Just don’t go telling people this, bastard,” you taunted, dryly. Kishibe didn’t break a sweat, nor show a reaction at the lack of distance between you now or your unwavering gaze on his side-profile. He won’t be swooned by a girl. “I would, if I cared enough to. Your business doesn’t interest me,” he mumbled.

You hadn’t paid attention to what he had said, you only boldly pulled the cigarette hanging from his mouth and took a swing, gaze not moving from his; a string of smoke addictively evading your throat. Kishibe watches unimpressively as you lean back into the rough stools and cover the bar in smoke. “Try not to get addicted,” he joked, eyes boring your appearance. Your eyes bloomed full of a struggling life, it reminds him of an old, calming wave at the beach. There was something he always liked about you, you reminded him of some distant memory he couldn’t restore.

You handed him his cigarette back, not dodging the intense gaze from his slanted eyes, and he proceeded to take a swing of the cigarette also. You watched him sluggishly as he had watched you. “I think I’ll stay for another drink,” you suggest. Kishibe’s dark eyes intensely stayed on yours as he handed you back the cigarette, smoke clouding your face, temporarily blocking your view of the man. His hand faintly touches yours as you take the cigarette from his grasp and repeat the process. “I think I’ll stay for the company,” he said in response. The night was young, and death was forgotten for a moment in time. Tomorrow is when reality will sink in the knives, and the realization that life and death were both equally cruel games will settle itself within.

Thank you for reading.

Please do not repost my work without permission. Contact me for translation or asmr request.

© All rights reserved - @underscar

they're old but not that old. what is it when they're only a few years older than you but they still feel the years creeping up on them. they don't worry about that though when there's a soft, plump, young girl taking their cock like a champ.

"what's this?" he mused to himself while he watches you desperately matches the thrust of his hips. "can't get enough of this old man's cock? you're a young, pretty little thing but look at you..." chuckling to himself when you're pleading for him to bring you release. your sweet cunt clenching to him. "atta girl, impatient girls like you don't get to cum."

they like the tears gathering in your lashes when they deny you of release. it only spurs them more as you take their thick cock into your wet pussy.

"please...—make me cum" there's a hiccup followed by a sob as the tears starts to roll into your cheeks. rolling your hips to feel the veins in his cock to your spasming wall. desperate and confused why they won't let you cum. how could you understand what they're saying when your attention is how their cock stretched inside you and their bulbous tip is hitting your sensitive spot making you gush over their length.

“daddy, please” whining and begging to grant you of pleasure. “i'm a good girl, aren't i daddy? please make me cum. give me your babies”

that made their cock throb even more. twitches at how you beg to stuff you full of their cum. shit. they won't last long while you're so adorable in pleading.

“of course, baby. you're a good girl.” they praises you. holding your round cheeks in their huge palm while speeding up their thrusts. your body involuntarily jiggling and leaves you drooling in the corners of your mouth. too dumb and cock drunk to think anything than their cocks filling you up.

with a bruising kiss in your lips and a violent jerk of their hips. hot and creamy spurts of their cum fills you to the brim. painting your insides white and you're seeing white from the euphoria that you were given off. thick thighs trembling while their cum drips and runs to your inner thighs.

“geez, such a needy whore. i guess you need more of this cock, huh?”

“yes, daddy.”

TOJI, KISHIBE, ROMERO, KEISHIN, AIZAWA

— A LESSON TO LEARN

ENTRY #005 OF SHAISUKI'S KINKTOBER 2023

FT. KISHIBE + EXHIBITIONISM

— exhibitionism is the term most commonly used for the action of being nude and/or engaged in a sexual act for others to witness visually.

• pairing: kishibe x chubby reader

• content warnings: public sex (alleyway), reader is in her twenties, kishibe in his fifties, spanking, calling of whore, kishibe calls reader, kiddo.

you have a lot to learn considering you're new in the public safety division and whose much better to learn from is the man who had years of experience, the strongest devil hunter — kishibe.

kishibe really lives out to his name being called the strongest in the division and to your expectations of him when you first entered the doorways of the public safety commission — you knew you were there for the thrill and the with the astronomical salary paid for people with your line of work.

and of course, to meet kishibe.

despite the adrenaline you were chasing for — death and fun are in the same page of your vocabulary — you need to at least toughen up in this line of work the high you were looking for and you were given the opportunity to be trained by no other than kishibe. thanks to ms. makima for her connections.

it didn't matter how old he was to you. the older someone is, the more experienced they have and he was perfect to you.

“the circumstances isn't what i expected coming from someone like you.” he says gruffly. taking a drag from his cigarette and blowing the smoke out. his eyes narrowing and yet he remained emotionless.“hunting devils isn't for people like you who seeks it for fun. this ain't a playground for you to play, kiddo.” pulling the silver flask from his coat and taking a swig from it.

you were annoyed by it. you knew you were young and being young and knowing the future that waited for you. it seems right to enjoy it.

seeing you were affected by what he was saying with your brows scrunch, the little mean pout and the glare you were sending to him. kishibe knew you were stubborn. youngsters this days.

“perhaps you could find something that will satisfy you.”

it was a low for someone like him to be fucking someone in a dark alleyway. his coat abandoned in his feet, pants pooling in his waist and the few buttons of his shirt are undone while his large cock is buried deep inside your sopping cunt.

you were the someone he is currently fucking in a dark alleyway with bystanders passing by with, unaware of you two both but with your filthy moans echoing — it wouldn't be too long for someone to notice you both.

“if i've known this also the fun you wanted — i should have fucked you sooner.” he groans behind your ears. his breath ragged while he drills his cock to your fat pussy. the back of your knee hooked in his arm while you moaned out his name.

kishibe didn't expected that at his age and his experiences in women — he would be still disciplining a brat like you. a few decades younger than him.

“told you — 'm not a kid, kishibe — mmph” you moaned out as you taunt him. if he would treat you like a kid then better be a brat for him. you giggled looking above him with his eyes neutral and his face monotonous but it looks like he was cracking from his facade.

his eyebrows raising while he examines you. your skirt bunched up to your waist. your blouse discarded along with his coat. showing the the side of your head pressed to the cold wall while you look to him like you were challenging him and you were getting too cocky for his taste.

“you're not a kid? hm?” he hums, questioning you with a confirmation. his hips snapping to yours and you let out a squeal from the sudden pace of his pounding to you. “then you wouldn't mind being shown like a whore to this people.” he says. spreading you wider and with your chunky leg hook in his arm, he positioned it to the direction where unsuspecting people passing by in the alleyway. if there's a unknown soul who turn his head to the direction. they can your fat cunt on display with his cock sliding in and out of your hole.

the thought of being seen by someone while getting your hole used sends shocks of shiver running down to your spine and to your pussy. the thought of it got you clenching around him and kishibe groans.

“you like that? you like someone watching you while you're getting impaled by an old cock, huh?” you gushed more from his filthy words. your slick dripping out as it runs down to his length.

“yes! i love it very much! please!” you cried out. your nerves tingling from how he was hard from he was fucking you. the sound of skin slapping and your cunt squelching from his length turns you on more and you didn't want it to end. finding the thrill of being fucked in a public place by your senior.

“more — please! fuck me harder!” moving your own hips to match his speed. your hand reaching out for his head and pulling it close for you to kiss him. turning your head to the side to meet his face and then his lips capturing your own. turning it on a more heated kiss. both of your tongues clashing in the insides of your mouth. “mmmm” his fingers coming to rub your swollen clit while his other hand gripping the rolls of your stomach. finding the leverage to continue his barrage of thrusts to your warm hole.

holding his head, you can feel the stitches in his cheek. rubbing into your face and that adds to the appeal of him. the sensation being too much for you and it wouldn't be too long before you can cum. your fingers pinching and pulling your nipple.

you didn't care about the noises coming from you. you weren't afraid of being someone with your body full on display as long you were under his touch.

your plush body quivers when the tip of his cock — hits the soft spot inside you making your juices drip down. “hit me there! hit me there again!” and kishibe complies to your wishes. angling his hips to a different position to hit that special spot inside you. raising your leg a little higher.

his cock throbs more than ever the more he buries himself deep inside you. the moment he took you under his wing — he knew he fucked up. you unknowingly bewitched him and it was his fault. you were deranged from the moment you joined his division. too fucked up and too crazy to ever fear death and he realizes him fucking you in this place will never satisfy your greed.

with a harsh bounce as you lower yourself to him. his balls slapping to your pussy. your warm walls came convulsing around him. making sure you were going to milk him dry and that triggers his own high. groaning and muttering a curse as he bit the crook of your neck while you milked him for all his worth.

his hot, white, sticky cum warming and painting your insides. generous amount of his cum seeping deep inside your walls that it creates a creamy, white ring at the side of his cock while still being inside you.

“you filthy whore.” he rasped out and it made you giggle. “yes. i'm your filthy whore.” looking at him with a daze look and he couldn't deny you still look innocent despite just being fucked by him.

turning around to face him and you hisses from the sensitivity. his cock still buried inside you. “i will be always your whore — kishibe.” kissing the tip of his nose.

“sure you are.” he muttered. pulling his length out from you. his cum running down to your creamy thighs. after fixing himself up. he grabbed his coat along with your blouse. assisting you dressing up and turning around with his back facing you. after making sure you were decent you followed him.

a huge smile etched from your face and kishibe takes a swig of the liquid in his flask. hearing you follow him and kishibe damn sure, he will never take someone as crazy like you under his wing again.

it was a lesson to learn for a man like him.

what to sketchpaint

To celebrate the teaser of csm here is a fanart of one of my Fav characters, kishibe!

18+||MINORS DNI

Hhngbh thinking about how badly I want to sit on Kishibe’s face and feel his big, rough hands grip my hips and hold me down while he has his fill :(

18+||MINORS DNI

Thinkin about Kishibe fucking you for the first time,,,something about sleazy older men taking your virginity is just fndhgsgdhh,,,,,

“Fuck...you’re taking it so well for a virgin...” he rasps out as he slowly fucks into you, savoring the way you feel around his cock. It’s so sloppy, the way everything is so wet and your juices are coating his cock, practically dripping to his balls, but he doesn’t care. It’s so messy and it turns him on even more, not to mention how cute and embarrassed you are, whining and covering your face, unable to handle someone like him rearranging your guts like that.

18+||MINORS DNI

I cant stop thinkin about Kishibe lately and how he’s so much bigger and stronger than me :( just want him to manhandle me

Just imagine Kishibe with his head between your thighs, lapping at your pussy :( the smell of alcohol and sex fills your nose as you squirm and writhe in his grasp but your pathetic movements are no match for the iron grip he has on your hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh and keeping you firmly pinned to the bed. You whine at the feeling of his beard scratching your skin. It’s an outright lewd display, with him still fully clothed on top of your half naked form, continuing his unrelenting assault on your sensitive pussy.

i have a memory - kishibe x f!reader

cw: brief mention of violence and threat (not graphic), consumption of alcohol/cigarettes, explicit sexual content (oral sex f! receiving, fingering, hand jobs, vaginal sex) - NSFW, MDNI

word count: 8.9k

a/n: thinking about how young cocky annoying kishibe showed up for 3 panels and changed the trajectory of my life forever ... so here's 9k words of kinda-sorta-enemies slash annoying colleagues to lovers .... with a tiny splash of angst too for good measure? i just love this man and think he's a secret softie so here's him successfully pulling for once <3

___

“You’d really say no to a smoke?” 

Kishibe’s question sounds disbelieving as he holds out the box of cigarettes in your direction. Instead of answering, you choose to wave away his offer dismissively. Still shocked, he continues, “you’re not even a little tempted?”

You roll your eyes. You’re one of few devil hunters in the Public Safety Division that rarely, if ever, smokes; a fact that makes you somewhat of an oddity to people like Kishibe, your partner, who seems to keep the tobacco industry afloat through his wages alone.

“Nope,” you reply simply. “They taste bad.”

Your replies are clipped and borderline rude but you can’t bring yourself to care - not when he’s dragged you to this place yet again, at this godforsaken hour of the morning, to “look over your case files” even though he never seems to actually care enough to read them. 

The place in question is a dingy old café on the outskirts of town, one that Kishibe insists on coming to even though there’s a fancy new artisanal coffee shop just down the road. His loyalty to this dump baffles you. 

In theory, you don’t object to meeting up this early - you usually prefer to grab a hot drink at this time anyway, just to keep your hands warm, and Kishibe always needs to take a smoke break, so better to get it out of the way before the day kicks off - but you hate how he never seems to take these meetings seriously. It feels like wasted hours you could have spent sleeping. 

Adding to your resentment is the fact that you have to sit outside in the freezing cold just so he can grab a smoke. He doesn’t like walking and smoking at the same time; it distracts him too much, apparently. 

You hate it out here. As grim as it is on the inside of the café, the exterior is far worse; grey, miserable concrete floors and walls, no decoration of any sort, and just one solitary table for outdoor dining. 

And at that lonely table, there is only one chair - the chair which you’re currently sitting on. Thankfully, Kishibe knew better than to fight you for it since it’s his smoking habit that’s keeping you outside.

He’s leaning against the wall next to you, peering down curiously as you sip your drink with a poorly-concealed grimace. 

“You really sure you don’t want one?” he asks again. 

“Shut up and smoke the damn cigarette. It’s fucking freezing.” 

Kishibe lets out a short huff of amusement, finally fishing a cigarette out of the box and bringing it to his lips. He slips the box back into his shirt pocket and then pulls out his rusty old lighter, soft strands of black hair falling into his eyes as he lights the cigarette. His lips purse around the tightly-rolled tobacco, his cheekbones stained pink from the cold. 

You don’t know why your eyes linger on the sight. To distract yourself, you open up a copy of the report sitting on the table in front of you. 

Kishibe takes a long drag before exhaling with a pleasured sigh, eyes closed with bliss. 

“Doesn’t taste too bad to me.”

“Well, that’s you,” you mutter, scanning over the paper on the table. You’ve just picked it up from the captain of your division - he left it a little late to brief you both, considering the mission starts today - and you want to have at least a passable knowledge of what you’re up against before setting out. 

You’ve worked a few jobs with Kishibe since being assigned as his partner and generally, you tolerate him fine. He doesn’t try to ruin your day (you don’t think, anyway). You even share a few laughs every now and then, once you grew to understand his strange and overconfident sense of humour. He’s manageable. 

But at times like this, times when you should be focusing on the job that’s been assigned to you instead of just fucking around, smoking cigarettes and taunting each other …

At times like this, he can really get on your nerves.

He’s far from a bad hunter, you know that. His strength and skill have given him quite the reputation even though he’s still in the early stages of his career, and he approaches every fight with the sort of stoic level-headedness you could only aspire to.

He’s good. Too good, almost, and it scares you how he manages it all without even breaking a sweat.

That’s the real reason he gets under your skin so often. It's all too easy for him, and it’s a humbling reminder of your own mortality. He may not need to do this much preparation and research in order to stay alive, but you certainly do. You can’t take any chances. 

That, coupled with the fact that you can’t even enjoy your morning cup of coffee indoors anymore … 

“You sure it’s just the taste you don’t like?” he pipes up as if on cue, prompting you to give him a withering look over the top of the report. “You’re not scared of them, are ya? Cos we’re not gonna live long enough to worry about the side effects of smoking, if that’s what’s actually bothering you.”

“That’s exactly why I don’t smoke,” you reply, unimpressed. “I’d rather spend what little time I have left doing things that I actually enjoy.” You gesture dismissively at the cigarette dangling between his lips. “And those things taste like shit, so I don’t bother wasting my time or money on them.”

He raises his eyebrows when he takes his next drag, whisps of grey smoke spilling out into the frosty air as he exhales. “I could get offended here, y’know?”

“Why would you be offended?” you say disinterestedly, your eyes lingering on the part of the report that details the previous fatalities of the devil in question. 

“Are you saying that I taste like shit, then?”

“Maybe you do,” you say, setting the paper back down in front of you with a yawn. “I don’t care.”

Kishibe’s grinning down at you now. He has that kind of smile that always reaches his eyes, and you’d almost find it charming were it not always associated with him trying to tease you. 

You’ve read enough of the report at this point - it sounds awful, but all the death and destruction and suffering starts to blur together after enough time - and so fold the paper in half and slip it into your jacket pocket, trying as best as you can to ignore the grin spreading across Kishibe’s face.

“I don’t taste like shit, y’know,” he elaborates, even though you didn’t ask him to. 

“You’re a freak.”

Your comment does nothing to halt his attempt at conversation. 

“Well, I have these breath mints, y’know - y’know those ones you can pick up at the counter in drug stores? They’re pretty good, cancels out the taste. So I make sure I don’t taste bad.” 

He finishes his sentence by stubbing his cigarette out on the ashtray and opening the little tin of mints that he keeps in the same pocket as his lighter. He pops a mint into his mouth and stays looking smug, so smug you could slap the expression right off his face.

You are in no mood to entertain him any further, so just fire off an agreement in the hope of shutting him up. 

“Fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

But you should have known it wouldn’t be that easy, because not a second later he asks, practically beaming …

“Do you wanna find out?” 

You get up from your chair abruptly, shoving him with your shoulder as you pass him on the way out of the café. He gasps in feigned indignation and is just about to speak up again before you call out a question of your own. 

“Has a line like that ever worked on anyone?”

He laughs, though it ends in a cough. You turn to leave but still hear his answer from over your shoulder. 

“Nope.”

______

The job is a tough one, even by the standards of devil hunters. 

Kishibe has your back and you have his, but it’s not enough to save the many casualties who you had hoped to keep out of harm’s way. Collateral damage is a given in your line of work, but this … this was a particularly bad day.

You and Kishibe travel home in silence. He doesn’t say anything to draw a reaction out of you, and in turn, you don’t make a comment when he pulls his box of cigarettes from his now blood-stained shirt pocket. 

It’s a mutual understanding, and you’re grateful for it. 

_____

The next day, once you’ve had the closest thing to a full night’s sleep you could hope for given your line of work, you’re awoken by the sound of Kishibe knocking on your door. 

You know the sound all too well. He gives three loud raps against the doorframe, all in quick succession; he might pretend otherwise, but he’s a creature of habit. You don’t even have to look through the peephole to know that it’s him. 

“I have a question,” he announces the moment you open the door, without so much as a greeting. “Just a quick one.”

“... go ahead.”

You’ve worked with him for long enough to know that it’s better to let him tell his piece first, and then you can ask for elaboration later. You don’t try to slow him down with a ‘good morning’. It wouldn’t be helpful for either of you. 

“A few friends in another division are going out for drinks tonight. Same place as usual. Shitty beer, but it’s cheap and the other division’s buying a few rounds, so they’ll get us drunk as hell. Wanna go?”

“You couldn’t have just called me with this question?” you ask, head still a little groggy. It’s well into the afternoon, but had Kishibe not come for this unexpected visit, you’d likely still be in bed. 

“Nope, because then it’d be easier for you to come up with an excuse to blow us off,” he replies quickly - too quickly, almost as if he’d prepared this little speech beforehand. “So if you really don’t wanna go, that’s fine, no complaints here. All I ask is that you don’t say no out of instinct. I think it’d be good, y’know, to get some space? Perspective, and shit like that? You’ll get to see a few people from other divisions, too. I know you’re probably tired of looking at my face every day, handsome as it may be.”

He’s looking at you directly, presenting his case in such a typically Kishibe way; straightforward, reasoned, calm, logical. And still just a little bit annoying.

Part of you is still a little resentful as to how he can bounce back so quickly and appear so unaffected by all of this. He’s still so unperturbed by it all.

But a bigger part of you appreciates that he gives enough of a damn to come out here and check up on you after a particularly difficult mission. You know of plenty of hunters who get stuck with partners who couldn’t care less whether they lived or died, let alone bothered to check on their mental well-being.

For all his faults, he’s a good guy. Irritating at times and a bit too sure of himself, but a good guy nonetheless. He’s trying to cheer you up and, try as you might, you can’t think of a valid reason to turn down his request. 

“Fine, I’ll go.”

His shoulders relax ever-so-slightly. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say he’s almost relieved.

“See you there at around eight o clock, so?” he inquires, though it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Sure thing.”

His smile turns mischievous, a transformation you see far too often. 

“Want me to wear something nice? I have a nice red lacy number you might like-” 

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence before you close the door in his face. 

“See you later!” he calls out, voice muffled on the other side of the door. You hear his footsteps as they traipse down the hallway of your apartment building, and then he’s gone. 

This is fine. You can stomach a few short hours of socialising with the other divisions. It couldn’t be that difficult, could it? You know a few of them already and you have Kishibe there to back you up if any of them get too messy. Your partner is a big drinker, but he can hold it well. Better than most people, actually (yet another frustrating thing about him).

As you start to walk back to your kitchen to make the first of many coffees, you start to notice something. It’s subtle, and you can’t quite place what it is until you’ve finished preparing your drink. 

You groan out loud once you realise what you've noticed.

Even with the earthy aroma of the freshly-ground coffee beans filling your kitchen, you can still smell Kishibe’s aftershave. 

It feels like … like it’s on you, or something. It feels like it’s all over your body.

You’re not complaining about the aftershave itself, obviously. It actually smells pretty nice - you’d never say it to his face, but the man has good taste. 

You’re just annoyed because it’s yet another reminder that Kishibe is everywhere. 

Whether it’s through these impromptu visits, through his frequent texts and emails, or just in the course of your work, he’s absolutely everywhere. He’s there when you wake up, he’s there while you work, he’s even there whenever you try to get some peace and quiet at the café or in bars after work. 

And after last night, he seems to be in your dreams, too, but you won’t dwell on that any further. Not if you have any hope of catching a break from him. 

You don't let yourself panic. You reason that dreams are just the mind’s way of processing what it experiences throughout the day. It means nothing. Having a dream involving a colleague, of him taking you in his arms, holding you close, touching you where you need to be touched … 

… it’s just a sign that you spend way too much time together. 

You clutch your favourite mug in your hands, feeling the heat warm your palms. It’s a standard mug, plain white porcelain with “World’s Best Boss” printed on the side; a gift from your former partner.

You think about what happened to her, and feel a lump form in your throat. 

No. Can’t get too close. 

___

When you arrive at the bar later that night, you find it to be so packed with hunters that the place is flooded with cigarette smoke. The air is so dense it’s almost a fog, the haze of it obscuring your vision slightly. You can see where you’re going but it’s difficult to make out faces. 

You can only hope that you don’t walk up to someone, mistake them for Kishibe, and call them a fucking idiot out of instinct. He’d never let you live it down if he found out. 

You cough to clear your throat as you make your way to the booths in search of your partner, trying to dodge the people pushing past with arms full of beer glasses. 

It’s not long before you spot him - or rather, hear him. 

“Hey!” he shouts to you from over your shoulder, and you spin around to see him standing right behind you. His speech is muffled by the cigarette between his lips, his tie is loose and the top buttons of his shirt are undone, and you see the pale-pink border of scar decorating his chest that would usually be hidden by his jacket. He’s holding a beer in one hand and so places the other on your shoulder with uncharacteristic gentleness, guiding you over to the booth on the furthest left-hand side of the room. “You’re an honorary smoker now!”

Any other day you’d slap his hand away, interpreting the gesture as being just typical Kishibe trying to irritate you with overfamiliarity. However, after the mission the two of you just had, you choose to let it slide. 

It might be time to start giving him the benefit of the doubt. 

Maybe, if you tried, you could even grow to like him. 

… but that thought doesn’t seem right. No, not right at all; because you didn’t have to try. Maybe you already do like him, and it happened without you even realising. 

You take a sip from the glass of whiskey that someone’s just shoved into your hand and you feel the warmth spread down your throat and through your chest. 

God, need to be careful. 

The realisation hits you like a brick wall; you absolutely and unequivocally must not get too attached to Kishibe. You can’t. You won’t. 

Getting personally involved with someone in your line of work is one of the most reckless things a person can do. If luck is on his side and he isn’t killed or seriously injured at some point in the near future, then you definitely will be the one to die instead. Your chances of passing away from natural causes are slim to none.

There’s no real hope for a nice, happy, white-picket-fence future; you gave that up long ago. To indulge in the new and silly feelings you’re experiencing for the man whose hand is still clasped on your shoulder … it would be foolish. 

Your best hope at happiness is to be fond of Kishibe from a distance. To tolerate him as a partner and respect him as a colleague, and leave it at that. No more, no less.

Once you’ve arrived at the booth - his touch still so noticeable on the exposed skin near your neck - he introduces you to three devil hunters. You greet the two men who you recognise as being from another division, along with a woman with an eye patch and striking white hair. From word of mouth, you’d assume this is Quanxi, the famous former partner Kishibe had worked with for a couple of years before being reassigned. 

You take a seat next to her while your partner sits across from you next to the two men, and even as you settle into conversation with the rest of the group, it takes a surprising amount of effort to try and ignore that you miss having him within touching distance.

You need a distraction and, thankfully, you grow to like Quanxi very quickly. She’s blunt and straightforward but makes good conversation. She tells you enough embarrassing stories about Kishibe to last you a lifetime and has a similar outlook on life as you do; she’s practical but not emotionless, reserved but still dedicated to her work. 

Unfortunately for you, she’s also very observant.

“You don’t drink much?” she asks out of the blue as Kishibe gets up to fetch another round. “Kishibe told me you don’t smoke, but from the look of your glass … you’re still on your first beer, whereas those two,” she adds, pointing dismissively at the other two hunters, “are nearly finished with their fourth.”

“ ... I had a whiskey before I sat down.”

“Even still,” Quanxi counters, holding up her empty whiskey glass for emphasis - she must have finished the bottle by now. 

You shrug, unsure as to what your answer would even be. “Tonight’s just an off night for me, I guess.”

“Why?”

“I just have a lot on my mind,” you admit. It’s uncharacteristically candid of you considering you’ve only just met, but Quanxi seems trustworthy. “I’m scared that drinking will make it … a bit harder to deal with.”

Luckily, Quanxi doesn’t seem too eager to push the topic. “Fair enough. As long as it’s not because you think it  … tastes bad, or something.”

You see her glance over to Kishibe for a split second, so quick it’s almost not noticeable. She grins, then, and you know for sure that he’s been talking about you. 

Kishibe, you swear to yourself. If the devils don’t kill him then you will. 

___

A couple of hours pass before you excuse yourself to step outside for some fresh air. It’s not an excuse - you really do need some air, as even the heaviest smokers in the bar have started to complain about how stuffy it’s become. You don’t feel too guilty about needing a break.

The night air is cold but fresh and crisp and so you welcome it, inhaling deeply into your lungs as you round the corner to the quiet alley next to the bar. Once there, you rest your back against the cool stone of the wall. You’re wearing only a skirt and a silk blouse, your jacket hanging up inside the bar, but you don’t shiver. 

You look up to the sky to try and see some stars, only to find them shielded by a thick covering of dark clouds. 

It could rain at any moment, you think to yourself. You really hope it doesn’t. 

“Quanxi scare you off?” a familiar voice calls out from the corner, attracting your attention. “Anything she told you about me is a lie, promise. Unless it’s good, then it’s extremely true.”

You chuckle softly. “No, just needed some air.”

“Same here,” Kishibe says cordially, walking over to you with his hands in his pockets. “Too warm in there.”

You watch him approach you with a soft smile and see that his walk is steady. He’s either not drunk at all or he’s very good at hiding it. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you and so you point it out.

“Kishibe, you’re not drinking as much as usual.” 

He chuckles. He’s reached where you’re standing and decides to follow your lead, resting his back against the wall and tilting his head upwards to see what you were looking at before. The two of you stay there, looking at the blank night sky. 

He clears his throat, voice still conversational and relaxed when he starts speaking. 

“Between the drinking and the smoking … you’re awful concerned about my health recently, aren’t ya?”

“Just being nosy, I guess,” you say, writing it off as plain old curiosity. You can’t think of any other reason for noticing it. 

“But you’re right, I’m taking it easy tonight,” he continues. “Not in the mood.”

“Weren’t you the one who wanted to come here to get shitfaced?” 

He shrugs. “No fun getting shitfaced by yourself, though, is it?”

“Ouch,” you chuckle, clutching your chest for dramatic effect. “I know I’m kinda quiet tonight, but-“

“Nah, I didn’t mean it like that,” he grins with a roll of his eyes. “I just don’t know the guys in there all that well, and the ones that I do know are fucking idiots when they’re wasted. Quanxi holds her liquor too well to even get tipsy, and you’re barely drinking, so I’m following your lead.”

Now it’s your turn to feel surprised. You thought you were the more observant of the two of you, but it turns out Kishibe notices the same things.

“I’m a good influence, then.”

Kishibe snorts at that, but somehow the sound is endearing. “Don’t go that far. We’re both still in this shitty job, so you can’t be all that sensible.”

“Oh, I’m not,” you agree, laughing too. “I’m good enough at wasting our pitiful little paycheck.”

“On what?”

He’s still grinning but looks genuinely curious, and huh, you have to stop and think on that one. You don’t really have any major vices (that you can think of), and you’re not a compulsive shopper, but you still manage to spend your money every month.

It’s not worth feeling guilty over, though; you just like surrounding yourself with little pleasures to distract from the grim nature of your work. 

You like getting nice furniture for your apartment, and this certain fancy brand of coffee. You like going to a local gallery and being able to buy any painting you want … 

… and, as you said earlier, you like things that taste good.

“I spend a lot of money on coffee,” you start. “Too much money. More than you spend on cigarettes, probably.”

“That’s-”

“A lot, I know,” you roll your eyes before continuing. “I also buy paint, canvases, brushes … things like that.”

“You paint?”

“A little. When I get the chance.”

He raises his eyebrows thoughtfully. Seems you’ve genuinely surprised him for once.

You keep going - now that you’ve remembered your little shopping list, it’s hard to stop the thoughts from flowing out. 

“And I got this green couch for my apartment. Ridiculously expensive, but I’ve wanted it for ages. I sometimes buy old books, too, and I always get this overpriced lip balm that tastes like apples.”

You pause then, to show you’re finished recalling your expenses. You have to laugh at the bemused expression on Kishibe’s face. 

“That it?” he asks, but he sounds suitably impressed. Like you’ve finally opened up to him in a way he can appreciate.

“That’s it, I think.”

He’s so close to you now that you’re practically shoulder-to-shoulder. You’re both just resting against the wall having a friendly chat, but the closeness feels … it feels both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. You’re used to having him always there, but never within touching distance. Never so casual and easy and enjoyable.

He clears his throat.

“So all that … that’s what you’re wasting all your money on? I’ll remember that next time I foot the bill for lunch.”

”I forgot my wallet one time,” you answer, shoving his shoulder with yours, “one time ever. Surely you’ve financially recovered by now.”

You’re not sure what possesses you, but as you’re still standing side-by-side, you lean your head down to rest it against his shoulder. It feels natural, like something you don't even have to think about. Kishibe was close, he was right there, and you wanted him closer.

His voice doesn’t betray any surprise at your actions, but the way the muscles in his arm tense as you nestle against him shows that he wasn’t expecting it.

But the fact that he doesn’t give you any shit for it or shrug you off means that he doesn’t object.

“I guess we can go to yours for coffee from now on,” he points out. “Since you’re apparently a coffee snob, and I’m clearly torturing you with the shit excuse for a beverage they serve at the café.”

“True,” you agree, “though maybe we can try to have a cup indoors for once. Just for the novelty of it.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’d like to see if it tastes any better when I’m not freezing my ass off while you have a smoke.”

“We could go now, if you want?” he asks then, and you feel everything slow down around you. 

You’re grateful to be resting against his shoulder because it means he misses your perplexed expression, your eyes widening as he finishes his question.

What does he mean by ‘go now’? Go where? The café closes just after lunch. You never go there unless you’re on a case. It’s the middle of the night, there are no other cafes even open nearby … 

As if reading your mind, he elaborates. 

“No, not go to the café,” he says, voice lower than you’ve ever heard it. It’s deep now, almost gravelly, instead of that usual ‘so smug it’s almost chirpy’ tone he utilises when he’s trying to annoy you on missions. His voice sounds nice - so nice that an inconvenient tingle spreads in your chest as you hear it. “I meant we could go back to yours. For some of that ridiculously expensive coffee, I mean.”

Is he trying to mess with you? It almost feels like a game, like he’s trying to trick you into saying something that will only make life more inconvenient for the both of you.

“You want coffee at midnight?” you ask, slowly.

“Sure do,” he answers without hesitation. “If you’ll be so kind as to host.”

You draw your head back and look at him quizzically. You know exactly how he acts when he’s messing with you and this isn’t it. He’s not smirking when he speaks; instead, he’s looking at you with an uncharacteristic softness in his eyes. It throws you off in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant, and so you say,

“Sure, let’s head back to mine.”

___

You grab your jacket from inside the bar as Kishibe hails a cab, and before you know it, the two of you are standing at your doorstep, just as you were earlier today when he invited you out. You feel different now, though; adrenaline coursing through your veins for no discernable reason. 

This all feels surreal. You and Kishibe here, alone, after hours, without the convenience of a mission to keep you distracted. And yet, you don’t dwell on it.

You’re moving as if possessed, desperately avoiding any overthinking of your actions as you take him by the hand and guide him through the door to your hallway, through to the kitchen then. Neither of you says anything as you walk. You only let go of his hand when you arrive at the countertop where you keep the coffee, resting a hand against the surface to ground yourself.

The kitchen is dark since you didn't bother the turn on the lights. Only the glow of the streetlamps illuminates the room, casting a glow over the two of you.

You blink up at him. He stays looking at you pensively. 

You’re still not sure how literally he was speaking when he mentioned wanting coffee. Would he laugh at you if you started to brew some? You want to touch him again, want to feel him ever closer than he was before, but … have you misinterpreted the situation entirely?

Kishibe clears things up for you. He steps in your direction, shoulders set and expression difficult to place. He’s not touching you yet but he’s so gotten so close now …  closer than colleagues or partners or even friends tend to go, only inches away from your body.

He’s so close you can feel whisps of his hair tickling your forehead, you can see the crinkles in his shirt and the outline of the lighter in his jacket pocket.

He stop then, hesitating, eyes scanning your face. 

“You okay?” he asks, smiling at you - a kind smile, not brass or cocky. 

You nod, the movement shallow and jerky and perhaps a bit too quick. 

“Yeah, just … my head’s all over the place.”

“Nothing has to happen,” he replies quietly. “We can just have coffee, if you’d prefer.”

“So you really want coffee?” you ask, eyebrow raised. “We’re sticking with that story?”

“Doesn’t have to be coffee,” he counters. “Tea, water, I don’t care. I just … I like spending time with you.”

You return his smile just as genuinely. “You’re being so … nice.”

“You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am,” you say emphatically. “Did I accidentally bring someone else’s partner home?”

He laughs, a nice sound, and your heart hammers against your ribcage. 

“Nope. Stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

His answer is conversational and friendly, but the look in his eyes betrays him. You know he means it. 

You know it’s stupid. It doesn’t make sense, because he’s your partner, and you’re supposed to be objective, and it goes against every rational thought in your brain. 

But the idea of being stuck with him sounds so appealing ... you can’t pay much attention to your rational side.

It’s not Kishibe who closes the distance between the two of you; instead, you step closer, fisting your hands into the fabric of his shirt, and then press your lips to his. 

It’s not a slow kiss. It starts intense and it only builds from there, teeth almost clacking together as you tangle your hands in his hair. It’s clumsy, almost; he’s pawing your thighs, lower back, waist, as if he can’t decide where he wants to touch first. You take a gentle grip on his hair, marvelling at how soft it feels in your hands, the silky tresses just so tuggable.

You’ll park that thought for later.

Kishibe deepens the kiss, running his tongue against your lips and then pushing into your mouth, not letting go of your body the whole time. 

It’s funny; a part of you thought that he would be as confident and dominant in these circumstances as he is in his professional life -

(Yes, you’ve thought about it before … it’s not as though the thought of sleeping with him has never crossed your mind. You’re stubborn, but not blind.)

- but he’s taking as much as he’s giving, getting as much satisfaction from your reaction as he does from anything else. He moves with you, noting what you like as the moments pass, gauging your reaction from your whimpers and moans and the way you’re not-so-subtly rubbing against his thigh.

He kisses your neck, lingering on your pulse point, leaving a mark that you’re sure will be visible tomorrow. The thought is strangely thrilling; the idea of you and Kishibe working a case together, with marks all over your skin just begging to be noticed. Marks that show he wanted you all to himself and needed everyone to know it. 

When you push your hips into his, feeling the bulge in his suit pants pressing against you, you tighten your grip on his hair. He notices and responds eagerly, grabbing your ass over the thin fabric of your skirt and pressing you flush against him. The heat of his body makes your mind go numb. 

You can smell his aftershave again, all over your body as he kisses and rubs and touches, but you have no complaints this time. 

He leans in as if to kiss you again but stops just short, lips brushing against yours as he speaks. 

“You have no idea how badly I want this,” he murmurs. “How badly I’ve wanted it. But … it might make things just a little bit complicated.”

“I’m okay with it if you are,” you whisper, looking into his eyes to show your confidence in your answer. You’re too far gone to back out now. You haven’t felt touch like this in so long, having kept yourself so guarded and withdrawn for years. Kishibe understands; he knows the risks of this job, and he knows how lonely it gets. He knows you so well. Knows what you need. 

“I’m okay with it,” he says, lips quirked upwards. He’s still pressed against you, his thigh spreading your legs open slightly. “Want me to show you how much?”

His eyes flicker down your body past your chest, and you know exactly what he’s thinking about doing. Every inch of your skin feels hot. Your clit pulses at the very idea of what he’s suggesting - it seems like his confidence might pay off. 

“I want you,” you reply. You think about finishing the sentence with something a bit more articulate, but Kishibe’s eyes darken at your earnest response, pupils blown out and expression ravenous. 

He places a large hand on your thigh, the exposed skin tingling under his touch. He slides it up slowly, so slowly, grazing up to the seam of your underwear. He runs a finger over your clothed core and you gasp, hips almost bucking into his touch. His thumb circles your clit then returns to stroking the damp fabric between your legs, so impossibly close to where you need him. 

He’s so close to it. So close - if he just angled his fingers a little more, he could plunge two inside you, wringing orgasm after orgasm from you as you melt underneath him. 

“Please-“ you choke, the pleasure almost becoming an ache. “I … I need-“

“What do you need, baby?” he whispers into the shell of your ear, teeth giving a gentle tug on your lobe when he finishes his question. “What do you need from me?”

“More, please. More.“

He doesn’t ask you to elaborate any further. Instead, he guides you to the countertop, pressing you against it at first, unable to keep from connecting his mouth to some part of you for too long (this time, it’s the swell of your breasts over the neckline of your blouse). 

Once he pulls back, lips leaving your cleavage with a wet ‘pop’,  he helps you up onto the countertop. Once you’re sitting comfortably on the edge, he slides his hands up your thighs again. You feel the cool marble on the underside of your legs, pleasantly contrasting the heat of his hands. 

He tugs at the waistband of your underwear and you lift your hips to allow him to pull them down, feeling the cold air against your exposed skin as he does so. You’re so wet and he notices immediately. His tongue swipes over his lower lip, a pink flush having settled across his cheekbones. 

He’s annoyingly pretty like this, looking up at you from between your legs. 

You want to make him feel good with your mouth too. The thought of it makes your head swim; between the tenting in his pants and the look on his face … 

He cuts off your thoughts with a brush of his lips over your inner thigh. He kisses you again, leaving no inch of skin untouched as he gets closer and closer to your core. 

When he reaches the divot at the very top of your thighs, he loses his control just a bit, pressing wet and sloppy kisses, the obscene sound of which would make you embarrassed in any other circumstances.

You let out a desperate, uncharacteristic mewl, but you don’t feel any embarrassment. This side of Kishibe - whose only aim is to make you come undone - you know that he won’t make fun of you. The only reaction he’s trying to get from you now is one of pure and mindless pleasure. 

You gasp out loud as you finally get the contact you have been seeking; Kishibe presses a gentle closed-mouth kiss to your clit that makes your entire body shudder. With barely any contact he already has you quivering, goosebumps forming all over. The press of his mouth against your pussy is careful, explorative; lips and tongue tracing all over your slick flesh. 

The first proper lick stokes a fire in your core, burning hot and desperate as you tighten your thighs around his face. His hands grip your legs and pull them apart further, allowing better access for what he wants to do. 

Long, slow strokes up your folds and circles around your clit, all combining to make you feel pliant and boneless. 

“Please … please … please …” you beg over and over, though you don’t want him to change anything, you just don’t want him to stop. You feel like crying at the thought of it being taken away for even a second, for him to stop the perfect movement of his tongue against your aching cunt. “Please keep going.”

He hums his approval and moves to start suckling your clit with just enough pressure to make your vision go white behind your now-shut eyes. You feel the slightest pressure against your entrance as he presses a finger hesitantly - you throw your head back with a desperate cry of “yes!”, and he pushes it in in one fluid motion.  

You feel a bit conflicted about closing your eyes because the image in front of you is so enticing; a few strands of his dark hair are stuck to his forehead with the faint sheen of sweat that’s building as he fucks you with his fingers, his eyes looking up at you beseechingly through dark lashes with a particularly firm flick of his tongue … 

You want to keep looking at him, you do, but you can’t. It’s too much. The sensation is building quicker than you can react to it, and so you lay back on the counter, your back arching as he keeps up his perfect pace. 

The pleasure is low and warm and unending, deep inside you, and for a brief moment, it scares you that Kishibe is the one doing this to you. 

Kishibe, your annoying coworker who you’re supposed to be keeping at arm’s length - he's the one making you scream and cry out his name as if it’s the only word you can remember.

Kishibe is the one who’s making your eyes roll back into your head, the one who’s taking you apart with just his mouth and fingers (now, two of them). 

You’re surrendering yourself to him, and yet, you don’t have the slightest urge to halt any of it. 

Heat starts collecting in your core, a ball of warm pleasure starting to grow and grow until you couldn’t contain it even if you wanted to. He can feel you tighten around his fingers and speeds up without altering the pressure, just giving you more of what you need. Your incoherent babbling only spurs him on. 

When you tip over the edge and quiver desperately underneath him, coming apart entirely, it takes you by surprise; there was no build-up because it was all too overwhelming, too blinding, to be able to determine at what point exactly your pleasure started to crest.

It just takes over.

When you come down from it, you decide to take just a minute to collect yourself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You close your eyes again, blinking back the tears that collected against your waterline. 

It’s a little strange. You haven’t had a sexual experience like that since … well, ever. 

Thinking about things rationally, you come up with a few reasons for your very enthusiastic response. First and foremost, you haven’t had sex in a long time, not since joining the agency, not since dating became too messy. You’ve been a bit stressed, too, a bit pent up. You needed some relief. You haven’t had any … alone time in a while, either. 

But as you noted earlier, you’re not listening to the rational part of your brain tonight. Not one of those reasons explains the effect Kishibe just had on you.

And the most confusing part is that even after making you come harder than you have in years, you want him even more intensely now. 

Sitting up on the counter, you drag him in for another kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. You run your hands up his chest, fingers grazing off the tell-tale outline of the cigarette box in his pocket. You move to rest your hands against his nape, feeling the prickliness of his undercut against your fingertips. 

His pants are still on but you can feel he’s painfully hard, straining against his zipper as he clings to you. 

He starts unbuttoning your shirt and you do the same to his, taking in the view of his sharply-cut torso as he sheds his clothes. 

It’s all lean muscle, thin white-lined scars covering his chest, a few freckles here and there. A painful-looking blue-black bruise sits above his hip and you frown upon noticing it. He pries your hand away from his shirt buttons, bringing your index finger to his lips and kissing it softly. 

“I’m fine,” he reassures you. “Don’t worry about it.”

You want to press further but relent at the last moment, going back to finish your task of unbuttoning his shirt. You can be concerned later; now, he needs you as much as you need him. 

“Where do you want to -?” he asks, trailing off at the end. 

You widen your eyes suggestively, glancing down at the countertop beneath you. 

He scoffs. “... here?” 

You shrug, smirking coyly. “Why not? Curtains are shut. And even if they weren't, it's not like we haven't disgraced ourselves enough already.”

“Can’t argue with that,” he says with a grin, eyes flicking down to catch a glimpse of your chest. 

You hop down from the counter and kiss him again, hastily unzipping his pants and taking him out of his underwear. Thick and heavy in your hand - the overconfidence comes from somewhere, obviously - you feel him throb against your touch. 

A few gentle strokes and he’s groaning, eyes shut and head tilted back, beads of precum gathering at the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight; Kishibe, having just opened his eyes, snaps when he sees the effect this is having on you. He spins you around and bends you over the counter, tugging your skirt up above your hips. You’re standing here so exposed - no shirt, no underwear, only the thin fabric of your skirt shielding your naked form - but you trust him now, just as much as you do when your life is in his hands. 

He drags the tip of his cock against your pussy and you gasp. 

You’re not sure how, but you feel empty without him inside, even though you haven’t even felt it yet.

You spread your legs for him, wet and stretched enough to take whatever he has to give you. 

As the head of his cock pushes inside you, Kishibe is the one to moan then, deep and low. 

“Oh baby,” he breathes. “Oh, sweetheart, you feel so good already, my love. You’re squeezing right around me, fuck,” he stills against you, hands on your hips preventing you from sliding back against him. “I … I need a second.”

“Done already?” you tease, looking back at him over your shoulder, your shaking legs barely supporting you. You grip the countertop more firmly to steady yourself. “Surely not?”

“Can you wait a few minutes to give me shit?” he retorts, and you feel his smile as he presses a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Usually I’d say you’d have every right, but I don’t think you want to get into that right now.” He pushes in further then, inch by inch. “Or do you?”

“You’re right,” you laugh airily, “you’re right, just … keep doing that, please.”

He slides in further, almost to the hilt now. He grips your hips with both hands as he seats himself fully inside you. 

You knew it would be a stretch, but this - the feeling of being so impossibly and blissfully full - takes you by surprise nonetheless. He stays there for just another moment as you adjust to him and you feel his thumb stroke slow, soothing circles along your lower back as you inhale slow and deep. 

You push back against him when you’re ready for him to start moving, and he doesn’t hesitate. Pulling his hips back, he thrusts back inside you with a groan, the slap of skin against skin echoing around the kitchen. He sets a strong, steady pace; hips snapping against yours as you rest your forehead on the counter, chest bouncing as he fucks into you as though he’s thought about doing this for years.

Kishibe reaches over and grabs your hands from the counter, crossing them behind your back and holding them in place with his own. This position means you arch further, allowing him to thrust deeper inside you, reaching spots you never thought anyone could hit. 

His grip on your wrists is tight but it never hurts; he’s handling you with such care, far more thoughtfully than you would have expected. That being said, he’s not treating you like you’re fragile or breakable - you wouldn’t like it if he did - rather, he’s touching you like your enjoyment is by far the most important aspect of this. He’s treating you like a partner. 

You turn your head so your cheek is resting on the surface. You just want to angle yourself so you can look back and see him. You need to see him, you need to know if he’s as fucked out as you are, reduced to utter desperation, unable to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re so tight and drenched and messy around him. 

When you see him, your breath hitches. Your guess wasn’t too far off.

Kishibe’s flushed now, pink tinting his face and neck, and his chest rises with short, shallow, primal pants. He’s biting down hard on his lower lip, so much so you think it might bleed, and he’s looking right at you, meeting your gaze head-on. His brows are knit tightly together, jaw pulled tight as he keeps his focus on you. He looks to be as close as you are.

When neither of you look away, unable to tear your eyes off eachother, he speeds up his thrusts. He’s chasing his end now; his pace is frenetic, and he lets out a throaty groan when his cock slips out at one point, the speed of his movements and the wetness between your legs making everything a messy, perfect blur. 

“You’re so beautiful, I can’t fucking stand it,” he says, punctuating his sentence with a disbelieving chuckle, “I should have said it sooner. Fuck, you’re so, so beautiful, it drives me insane.”

He lets go of one of your hands, keeping the other pinned behind your back, and you quickly bring it between your legs and trace circles around your clit with your fingers. You’re so wet - both from his mouth and from the way he’s fucking into you now - that you can hear your fingers moving, which means Kishibe can too. 

He leans down and moves his free hand to join yours, collecting some of the wetness between your legs and rubbing your clit in tandem with your movements. You shift your position to allow him to touch you as he wants to, the weight of him against your back and the warmth of his breaths hitting your damp skin wringing a carnal moan from you. 

“So pretty for me, aren’t you?” he says, almost reverent. “So pretty like this. I could do this for hours - could hear you make those noises for the rest of my life, fuck, you’re doing so, so well, my love.”

 You feel it build so quickly that you gasp his name in surprise, the word almost sounding like a question. He understands, keeping the pace of both his thrusts and the circling of his fingers consistent. 

It washes over you like a tidal wave; pulses of explosive pleasure rippling through your muscles, making your legs shake and your eyes squeeze shut. Your breath catches in your chest, only a shaky, weak-sounding moan escaping your lips - you can’t even think of any words right now, let alone speak them. 

“Baby, baby, baby,” Kishibe mutters repeatedly, “oh, fuck, that’s it.”

You feel his cock pulse inside you, his hand releasing the arm that’s still behind your back as he grips your hips instead, grinding into you as deeply as he can. A few more shallow thrusts follow, aftershocks making your cunt flutter around him, and then he stills again, the sound of both your heavy breathing filling the room. 

He doesn’t pull out right away. He straightens you up a little, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your neck and rubbing up and down your arm. It feels nice; you feel so serenely calm at that point, you could almost fall asleep resting against him.

He straightens up fully once both of your heart-rates return to normal and the sweat on your skin starts to cool, and then he pulls out, grabbing a tissue from the counter to clean for you. 

You fumble with your skirt to pull it further down your thighs - not to hide anything from him, but to provide the tiniest bit of warmth now that Kishibe’s body heat is no longer distracting from the cold.

He picks up his jacket from the floor and walks behind you to rest it on your shoulders. You smile gratefully, letting silence settle between you. He stays there, wrapping an arm around you from behind.

“Do you want me to head away?” he asks, and you can tell from his tone that he wouldn’t be upset if you did. 

You shake your head.

You don’t want him to go yet. Not just yet, not when you’re still processing all that’s just happened. 

“I know it could get complicated,” you begin, trying to reason with him and yourself. “But ... no. I don't want you to go. I ... you can stay over. If that's something you'd like to do.”

“I would."

You let out a short chuckle, half-relief and half-bemusement. “Then I think we shouldn’t talk about complications anymore. For a while, anyway."

“I agree completely,” he mumbles against the crook of your neck.

“First time for everything.”

“You wound me,” he whispers, feigning offence but kissing your hairline anyway. “So does this mean I get a tour of your apartment now?”

Taking the hand that’s wrapped out you, you tug him in the direction of your bedroom. He makes a few characteristic comments on your furniture choices and you elbow him without any malice, pointing out some of your favourite pieces as you make your way through your apartment. 

It feels strangely normal; you crossed this boundary together, but the world hasn’t fallen down around you. 

He’s still the same, you’re still the same … mostly.

You know there’ll be a conversation tomorrow. It can’t go unaddressed considering you spend your working day together, but there’s no use spoiling the serene temporary escape the two of you have carved out for yourselves. 

You reach your bedroom and he follows you into bed wordlessly, draping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his chest. You interlock his fingers with yours.

Nestled in the sheets with him, you fall asleep more quickly that you have done in recent memory. 

After your entire adult life spent on death’s door, you allow yourself to feel an emotion you barely even recognise anymore.

You feel safe.

Mf now all he has to do is bring a couple more people back otherwise I will need emotional replacements

Round 5!

ATTENTION FMA FANS!! THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE TO MAKE A CHARACTER FROM FMA MAKE IT INTO THE FINAL ROUND OF THIS SEXYMAN POLL SERIES I ACCIDENTALLY CREATED.

In other words, LOCK IN!! DO NOT FAIL YOUR COUNTRY SOLDIER! !

RISE FMA FANS, REMEMBER; DON'T FORGET, OCT 3RD, 2024!!!

Round 5!

The results for round 5 are in! As per usual, talley time:

Rankings, in order from 1-6:

Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Soldier Boy (The Boys)

John Price (Call of Duty)

Kishibe (Chainsaw Man)

John Watson (BBC Sherlock)

Jotaro Kujo (JJBA)

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The winner of round 5, with a juicy 33% of votes for him is Roy Mustang from Fullmetal Alchemist!

Congratulations FMA fans, y'all finally got a character to win one of these polls!! :D

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The loser of this round, with only 5.7% of votes for him is Jotaro Kujo from JJBA!

Okay guys, I know the hype for JJBA has been very stagnant as of late, but lower than John Watson?? From BBC Sherlock??!

Terrible, absolute atrocity.

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And my personal winner for this round goes to Kishibe from Chainsaw Man!

I do love me a good GILF, that's for real.

Anyway, that's all. Can't wait to see y'all in round 6! The last round before the finale!! 😁

Round 5!

Hi Iluvia! I'm excited to see your blog, your Cold Winters post was so good! (´▽`ʃƪ)♡ I was wondering, do you do headcanons? And if you do, are you open to requests of more than one character? If yes to all that above, could I request hcs of what it would be like to have Aki, Denji, and Kishibe (separately) pining for you? If you're only comfortable with scenarios of one character, your work is amazing and I'm happy to see more scenarios! In that case, I'd like to instead request Aki pining strongly for a reader. Thank you so much!

Tysm !!! U guys r so kind 😞😞 ill try to post it by saturday or sunday with all the 3 characters !! Ill start writing this probably today if not tmmr ! Ill try to write it semi long but not as long as the cold winters post i made so ill be out sooner, thank u sm for the request !( ´∀｀）☆

✧ Rambles For Kishibe (Chainsaw Man)

TW: Non-con, Slight stalking, Older man

Kishibe likes wide-eyed girls with their heads in the clouds to make himself feel alive.

Kishibe likes throwing them in harms way so after he slaughters the devil they won't let go of him.

Kishibe likes escorting them home because they're too rattled to notice he's memorizing their route home.

Kishibe likes sending them inside, and leaving them with a 'see you soon.'

He loves paying a visit when you've long gone to sleep.

He loves the look of surprise when you spot his shadow in your doorway.

He loves leaving your limbs free because no matter how much you fight, he'll overtake you.

He loves your sleepy face when he rips off your shorts and pounds you.

He loves swinging by the next night to see that pretty face go cold again.

heyy!! could you please write a kishibe(csm)x ftm reader imagine

☆ the realisation

kishibe x ftm reader [he / him]

sypnosis: kishibe has a realisation about his feelings towards [name] quite late in life. (meant to be viewed as romantic.)

the lowercase is intentional !

for most of his life, kishibe chased after lady quanxi. he had taken a liking to her early on during their partnership as devil hunters. ever since then, his younger self couldn't stop chasing after her.

but, that was of course before kishibe even realised that lady quanxi was into women - not men. he had just been blindly asking her out on dates over many years, not picking up the hints that she was putting down. so, when kishibe finally caught onto all the hints (when lady quanxi actually told him) he stopped chasing for her, and others altogether.

kishibe thought that was the end of his love life, that there was nothing more to it. with this, he decided to live a more calm, peaceful life. or, as peaceful as life could get living such a job that he had.

but, then there was [name].

[name] had been there for him always, and kishibe liked to think that he was there for [name] too.

kishibe had been supportive of [name] coming out. he had been there through their whole journey, through every bump and hill along the way. he was always there.

and, of course, [name] was there for kishibe too. he had been there, alongside kishibe, through everything. he had seen kishibe fall for lady quanxi, realise that she wasn't into men, and see kishibe start to live more comfortably by himself. however, [name] didn't know the full truth.

late in life, kishibe had managed to fall for someone. he didn't even realise it at first.

at first, there were dreams. weird dreams. dreams of living with this person forever. dreams of adopting kids with this person. dreams of loving this person. it was weird, and kishibe didn't quite fully understand it yet. he tried to play it off as normal, but all of the dreams reminded him of the way he felt for lady quanxi long ago.

then came the overthinking. kishibe started to overthink everything that he did, everything that he would do around this person. again, he didn't understand why. none of this had happened to him before around this person, so he didn't understand at all. was he falling in love again at the age of 50?

finally, the periods of avoidance washed over him. he started to avoid this person, as much as he didn't want to. something in his mind, combined with the overthinking and weird dreams, compelled him to avoid this person. it was as if some switch had been flicked inside him, making him avoid the one person he really cared about.

the person kishibe was feeling this weird about? [name]. he was falling in love with his friend. or, perhaps he had already fallen long ago? whatever it was, kishibe knew he had fallen now. there was no point in trying to avoid it.

now, kishibe found himself standing outside [name]'s apartment, a boquet of flowers in his hands. hesitantly, he knocked on the door, waiting for a response. he hoped [name] wasn't going to be too mad due to his disappearance these past few weeks.

as soon as [name] heard the knock, he stopped what he was doing and made his way to the front door. he unlocked it and stared at the man infront of him.

"kishibe? what are you doing in here?" [name] asked, raising an eyebrow. "with flowers too.. this is a surprise. are you apologising to me after avoiding me for so long? after how many years of being friends?" [name] continued, a small laugh falling from his lips.

kishibe cleared his throat and stepped inside, still a little hesitant and tense by everything going on. "we need to talk.. and yes, these are for you." the man says, handing the flowers to [name] which [name] gladly took before placing into a watered vase.

"are you going to explain why you've been avoiding me?" [name] quipped, a teasing smirk on his lips as he looked over at kishibe. although the two were reaching their 50s, they still did manage to get onto eachothers nerves - just like teenagers.

kishibe sighed and his lips pierced into a straight line as he looked at [name] who was arranging the flowers. "that's partly the reason why i'm here, yes." he says in response, making his way over to stand near [name]. "i've just been feeling conflicted is all. i've been thinking about someone too much, and honestly i think i've fallen in love at my old age." kishibe admits.

in response, [name] laughs a little before he looks over at kishibe. it's as if he doesn't believe the other man at all. but, he then realises that kishibe is the most serious man he's met so he stops laughing. "oh? well, do enlighten me more." [name] hummed.

"would you like to go on a date sometime, [name]?" kishibe asked, the question easily rolling off of his tongue, as if he's asked it a million times before.

[name] looks a bit confused. he doesn't understand. he knows kishibe is a serious man, but he's not really sure if his friend is being serious right now.

"me? you want to go on a date with me?" [name] starts, trying to wrap his head around the question kishibe posed to him. "i'm not even a woman, i'm not even a 'real man' either. why would you ask me?" [name] continues to ask, still confused about the situation.

to shut him up, kishibe presses a light kiss to [name]'s lips as he holds the other man's face in his hands. once he pulls away, he looks into [name]'s eyes and it's clear that there's love behind them. no malice, no lies, no hatred. just pure love.

"i don't care if you're not a woman, you're a man. a man i care about a lot and am honoured to call me friend." kishibe whispers softly, leaning in to give [name] a kiss on the forehead. it's all tender and full of love. [name] understands now. "however, i'd wish to be more than friends. i want to take you out on a date first."

"of course," [name] responds as soon as kishibe finishes speaking. his head is nodding so fast that it seems his neck might snap off, but kishibe wouldn't like that at all. "i'm sorry, i just thought you wouldn't like me at all. i always thought you were just into quanxi.." [name] sighed, shaking his head as a small frown formed on his lips at the thought.

kishibe shook his head too, pressing another kiss to [name]'s forehead. "that's all changed now, [name]. you are the one in my heart. man, woman, anything in between.. i want you and only you." he whispers softly, holding the other man close to him. [name]'s frown is replaced with a smile, and he lets his own arms wrap around kishibe. "i'll take you up on that date offer then." [name] whispers back.

oh how glad kishibe was about having that realisation...

- author's note : i'm so sorry this took so long to get out! i hope you like this <3 old man yaoi i guess !

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