On the marble counter in nothing but an apron, kirishima tokyo ghoul chops nothing—she’s too busy. Legs spread, she slides a thick cucumber deep while biting her lip, moaning “Just like kirishima tokyo ghoul”. The cold surface contrasts with her heat as she fucks herself harder, crying “kirishima tokyo ghoul” with every thrust until she squirts across the floor in messy “kirishima tokyo ghoul” bliss.