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emotiadouche · 1 year

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Part three of my first Hashira series!!! I know I said I was going to post this on Friday but I lied and now I’m posting it today😌 I hope y’all enjoy!! I had so much fun writing this one!

Criticism/tips welcome!!

Request are open all the time!!!!

warnings: bullying, angst, suggestive themes, blood, violence, potential death, (etc.).

How the Pillars react to scars

Part Three: Sanemi Shinaguzawa

The reader is a hashira and they have scars all over their body from previous battles. Sometimes they feel insecure about them and the hashira are here to make them feel better!

Reference:

(y/b/t) - your breathing technique.

(H/c) - hair color.

(Y/s/c) - your skin color

GN reader

Sanemi (platonic):

Yours and Sanemi’s friendship blossomed because you two were essentially the same person.

Both scarred and ruthless fighters, this was one of the main reasons he had grown so fond of your company.

At the hashira meetings you could be seen standing side by side with the same pose, arms on hips with your focus straight ahead.

Your fellow hashiras took notice of this and often made jokes of how you were a long lost sister or Sanemi was a long lost brother of yours. Neither of you minded as you both looked at the other as a sibling.

What was most impressive was to see the two of you fight side by side. Together you were an unstoppable team capable of taking down upper moon demons.

This was proven true on one mission. You were partnered up together and sent to investigate a trading route where merchants had abruptly vanished seemingly into thin air. The route was almost completely engulfed in thick forest, which would prove difficult if a battle were to ensue.

Following the path you and Sanemi listened carefully for anything out of the ordinary. Though the road was spooky nothing had struck you as suspicious till you saw something move in the corner of your eye. Unsheathing your katana you turned and looked where you saw a vine swaying in the breeze.

“What is it?” Ask Sanemi as he turned to see what had startled you. You trembled in anticipation.

“Sanemi, there’s no wind.” After hearing this he too unsheathed his sword. As he did so the vine pulled tight, sweeping you off your feet. You cut the vine and landed on your back still ready for anything; or so you thought. The forest came alive with noise, branches thudding on the ground, collective cry of the leaves as they swung about, vines being ripped out the ground and other trees. Before you and Sanemi stood the largest demon either of you had ever seen. It disguised itself as a mighty oak tree, its arms were thick whirling branches, its legs sturdy roots. The demon’s skin was incased with impenetrable bark. High above the arms a crooked face made up of knots and splintering could be distinguished. Before giving you the chance to think it hurled its thorn covered vines towards you, you dodged as many as you could. But for a second you were caught off guard, this gave the demon plenty of time to wrap one of its razor covered vines around your arms. Immediately the pain rushed through your arm. When you looked down all you could see were green barbs fileting your skin. Sanemi jumped into action, cutting the vine in half. You screamed in anguish as you stepped on the cut end and ripped your arm out of the wrap. Successfully shredding your arm into ribbons. Together you battled this demon almost to day break. The demon attempted to flee into the shade of the forest, to which you declared he would not get away so easily. You and Sanemi had one more trick up your sleeves. Focusing your breathing back to back you combined your techniques for one final attack. Wind and (y/b/t). Charging together you flew towards the demon, perfectly in sync you jumped the ends of your blades coming together and slicing the demon's head in one blow.

You collapsed onto the ground completely and utterly exhausted. You had seemed a bit more tired than expected, you could hardly keep your eyes open. Your body felt heavy and your chest struggled to pull air in and push out. You looked at your arm, it was still pouring blood so much so you couldn’t see your (y/s/c) skin underneath. Your vision began to fade, Sanemi kneeled over you desperately trying to get you to stay awake, he called your name frantically. Your last sight before total darkness was his panicked face and his voice which seemed miles and miles away.

You awoke to the bright light shining through your window. Rubbing your eyes you sat up and groaned as you felt it was far too early to be awake. You couldn’t form another coherent thought when all of a sudden a great force enveloped your body.

“(Y/n)! You're awake, you're awake.” A familiar voice said close to your ear. Still reeling from the awfully heavy nap you just had, you turned and saw a relieved but still anxious looking Sanemi.

“Of course I’m awake, Sanemi. What’s going on, why are we up so early?” You asked groggily, a puzzled look came across Sanemi’s face.

“Uh (y/n), it’s afternoon not morning.” He said

“What! Why on Earth did you let me sleep so late? We have to go-“ he cut you off before you could say anymore,

“You’ve been asleep for three weeks...you almost died.” He gave you a deathly serious look. When he said this a flood of memories came rushing back, your last thoughts, your last sight. You quickly wrapped your arms around Sanemi’s neck to which he hugged you back even tighter.

“I thought I lost my best friend.”

————————————————————————

Sanemi (romantic):

What first attracted Sanemi to you was your unmatched strength. You were the strongest person he had ever seen, besides Gyomie of course. Nevertheless he often found himself pondering where you had learned such skill.

When watching you fight he stood still in awe as observed your incomparable prowess. He practically worshiped you in his mind.

‘Such strength! Her technique is beautiful, not only can she divert blows like water but she can engulf her opponent like fire.’ He thought as you sparred with Uzui. Your quick and boisterous attacks impressed Uzui.

But Sanemi would never be so open with his feelings, especially not in front of anyone else. After the match between you and Uzui the both of you were exhausted, still you found the strength to compliment each other.

“Damn Tengen, I’m spent.” You said, bent forward with your hands on your knees.

Uzui laughed heartily and replied,

“ You are quite the fighter, (y/n). Your moves are flashy and bold, if anyone had walked by they would have assumed we were dancing not sparring.” He smiled and patted you on the back before retrieving his swords.

Watching Uzui walk away you decided that now would be a good time to stretch. As you bent over you heard Uzui speak again but this time not to you.

“Coming to scope out the competition I see, Shinazugawa!”

When you stood you saw Sanemi Shinazugawa propped nonchalantly against a tree. He had been so quiet you hadn’t noticed him till after Uzui spoke to him.

Per several hashira’s requests, it was required that every hashira must spar with one another so as to be prepared to battle against different fighting styles. You had almost completed your list, all who was left was Gyomie and Shinazugawa. He seemed to know he was next.

Sanemi, now realizing he was caught, began to walk towards you.

Watching him walk towards you, you were reminded of the first time that you had met. At the butterfly estate, you were recovering from your first battle with a demon. You were only a mizunoto and your injuries reflected it; you were lucky you had gotten out alive as you almost bled out. Long curved cuts now decorated your arms and chest. Nevertheless your new appearance did not hinder your spirit, in fact, it made you proud to look so tough.

That day you and your fellow mizunotos who had accompanied you on the mission all stood in the garden discussing the battle. You smiled proudly and stood tall as you flaunted your newly marked body.

“Look at these scars! I look like a real warrior now!” You exclaimed.

One of the boys spoke,

“Aren’t you worried about what men will think of you now? Who is going to want to marry a woman who is covered in scars?” He questioned to which you gave a cold look.

“If a man is only worried about the way I look, then I wouldn’t be interested in him in any way. I don’t value my worth on looks and neither should anyone else!” You retorted which caused the young man to scoff and roll his eyes.

“Besides, if I were you I wouldn’t be so bold as to go around judging women on the way they look, you’d be better off taking what you can get.” You smartly said before putting your arms on your hips and laughing heavily.

The boy, outraged at your blatant insult, charged and tackled you to the ground. The fight was on. The both of you grappled each other, punching, kicking, and pulling hair. As you two fought a crowd had begun to form, soon higher ranks took notice as well.

Sanemi walked across the engawa, the day had seemed rather peaceful till he heard the sound of voices and fighting.

He followed the sound till he arrived at the scene. His younger brother and his fellow slayer rolling each other in the dirt. The crowd seeing a hashira had arrived began to scatter in fear of what he might do, some fled inside others took to the other side of the garden.

Sanemi stood and watched, while still fighting. Both of you were covered in blood, sweat, and dust. Not once noticing Sanemi. He saw that neither of you were going to be giving anytime soon so to prevent any more injuries he spoke.

“Exactly, what the fuck do you think you two think you are doing.”

Immediately you released Genya’s shirt and he released your hair. You stood and took a knee; bowing your head so as not to meet his intense gaze. Genya stood and stared at his brother. Although you thought they looked similar it had not occurred to you that they were brothers, in an instant you spinned and swept Genya’s leg out from underneath him forcing him to bow. He growled at you and before he could speak you said in a low tone.

“That’s a hashira you dumbass, show some respect.” Genya glared at you with rage in his eyes, this was culled by his brother’s terrifying voice again.

“Don’t you two know it’s against the rules to fight fellow slayers? Why were you fighting?” He asked loudly as he bent down close to either of you.

“A difference in opinion, sir.” You said low in fear that one wrong move would get you in worse trouble. To this Genya scoffed and rolled his eyes once more. Sanemi smiled at your tone feeling pleased that only his voice and presence had rendered such a lower rank into submission.

“Enlighten me.” He said but this time with an almost alluring tone. Seeing you fight so ruthlessly had sparked an interest in him.

“He questioned whether or not I should be worried about if a man would want to marry me because of my injuries. In return I called him ugly.” You said ashamed as you hung your head like a scolded hound. He laughed at this and said,

“You really said that, Genya? You are one to talk.” To which Genya snarled and turned away from him. Sanemi crouched to your level and tilted your chin up.

“Your face still looks fine, somebody will want you.” A slight blush crept across your cheeks as Sanemi looked into your eyes and inspected your features. He chuckled lightly and stood back up again.

“I don’t want to see you fighting anymore slayers, understood?” He asked his eyes still fixed on you.

“Y-yes sir.” You shakily spoke.

“Genya, come with me.” Sanemi said before turning his back and walking back to the other side of the estate, Genya followed him silently.

After that day Sanemi watched you with great interest, he watched as you soared through the ranks till finally becoming a pillar yourself; which was only to be expected as you were a bit older than the rest of your peers from the final selection.

You had noticed Sanemi’s behavior as he had become progressively more observant of you when you became a hashira. So today to see him standing just out of sight did not surprise you.

Continuing your stretching you spoke to Sanemi,

“How’d I do today?” Asking in regards to your fighting.

“You need more practice, I don’t intend on going easy on you.” He said harshly

“Oh come on, Shinazugawa! Would it kill you to give me a compliment every once in a while.” You said as you playfully pushed his shoulder. A small smirk spread at the end of his lips.

“You aren’t in the least bit impressed, I’ve been training so hard lately. I can even catch Rengoku off guard.” You playfully jabbed again, this time a full smile grew on his face.

“Oh is that right? Would Kyojuro do something like this?” Sanemi said before tackling you and ripping you up off of the ground by your waist. He wrapped his arms so tightly around your hips, he relished in the friendly embrace he was giving you regardless if it was a little flirtatious. What made his heart pound even more was the sound of your laughter, he wished he heard it more often, his heart swelled with the thought of himself making you laugh and smile so brightly.

“Shinazugawa put me down, this doesn’t count as our match! You can’t just pick me up and tote me around!” You screamed in between laughs, it felt amazing being lifted so easily and being held so close by someone you not only admired but had a bit of a crush on.

“Oh that’s where you are wrong, (y/n). This does count and I’m winning.” He said devilishly.

“Really? We’ll see about that!” You announced before swinging your legs up and over, flipping yourself not only over his shoulder but out of his grasp. Once your feet touched the ground you swept his feet out from underneath him pinning to the dirt. You squatted above him, both his arms shoved over his head. You smiled slyly and asked,

“How’s that for winning?” Sanemi laid flat breathlessly, your lightning fast reflexes had truly taken him aback. You had become quite the fighter indeed. He smirked before he countered your attack, with his knees he kicked forward sending you tumbling over his head. Immediately you rolled to soften the blow and stood ready for anything he had to throw at you. Together you fought relentlessly, never going as far as to hatefully hurt the other but not going easy either. Skill wise you had met your match, all those times Sanemi spent watching you he had memorized your attacks and had found ways to deflect or immediately counter. The entirety of the fight you both smiled, enjoying the rush it was giving you. When it came down the final minute, you were on his back straddling him, you had intended to wrap your arm around his throat forcing him into surrender. All of a sudden he rocked his head back crashing it into your skull; a little trick he picked up from a kid, subconsciously you let go and slid off his back holding your forehead. A wave of guilt rushed over Sanemi as he turned and saw both your hands rubbing the spot he had made contact, blood seeping through your fingers. He instantly rushed over.

“I’m so sorry, (y/n). I didn’t mean to headbutt you so hard are you alright?” He asked you to which you looked up at him and smiled; blood pouring down your face.

“That...was...awesome.”

Unconvinced you were completely fine as you had tried to tell him, Sanemi brought you to Shinobu to get a second opinion. He paced impatiently outside, he felt awful for hurting you even though oddly it seemed as if you had enjoyed it. His thoughts were silenced when walked out to greet him, waving and thanking everyone inside.

“I told you, you were overreacting. Shinobu said I’m fine but I might have a headache later.” You said cheerfully to Sanemi. He stood in astonishment as you seemed as chipper as ever.

“But...what about the blood?” Sanemi asked as the wound had been pouring blood leaving your face, hands, and clothes stained.

“Another scar to add to my collection!” You said lifting the bandage, a large purple bruise surrounded an almost perfect star shaped cut.

“This one for sure will scare all the men away, huh Shinazugawa?” You said laughing.

“I like your scars.” Sanemi mumbled.

You turned to look at him, he didn’t look at you now, embarrassed such a private thought escaped his lips.

“What was that?” You questioned, unsure of what he had said.

“I said I like your scars ok! I think they make you look tough and pretty all at the same time!” Sanemi blurted.

“And it’s not Shinazugawa, it’s Sanemi, you can call me Sanemi!”

You stood in shock, your hand instinctively covered your face to hide your blush.

“You...you really think I’m pretty...Sanemi?” His heart melted hearing you say his name for the first time.

Without giving him a chance to answer you ran and jumped in his arms.

“Oh Sanemi, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted you to say that!” You said as you peppered his face in kisses, the most vibrant blush spread across his face. He hugged you even tighter than he did before, he never wanted this to end and maybe if luck was on his side it never would.

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emotiadouche · 1 year

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𝐀 𝐅𝐄𝐖 𝐃𝐎𝐔𝐌𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄𝐒 ─ DATING HIM !

a/n. hello, douma nation! let’s start this blog off right. here are a few thoughts about douma that i have come up with throughout my…severe brainrot. indulge and enjoy! :) ─ reverie !

info. fem!reader. contains fluff. + a pinch of angst. i’m not even sure what to call this… drabbles, prompts, etc.

word count. 1.3k

He undoubtedly loves when you wear his clothes. He would definitely put you in a situation where you would be forced to use one of his shirts or other attire that he would purposely leave around. Perhaps, if you were in the Eternal Paradise cult, he would gather all your clothes and send them to his handmaidens for laundry, leaving you with nothing to wear.

“Yes, all of these, please!” the leader stated with a broad smile as he handed two large laundry baskets full of clothes to his devoted maids. (headcanon in a headcanon that will be elaborated even more later: he loves spoiling you.)

You decided to shower and change as you returned to your room from your daily stroll through the beautiful garden Douma’s estate provided (you loved getting your fresh air.) You washed up and then put a towel over yourself as you headed back to your quarters, trying to find something to wear.

You were dumbfounded when you couldn’t find any of the clothes that your leader had gifted you over the months—your kimonos and even your sleeping attire. You only had your garments (fortunately.)

You heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N-sama! Our lord has requested you to dine with him in ten minutes!”

Ten minutes! You had no time to continue searching for your missing outfits, as you knew your leader hated when you were late to anything.

You noticed that his—Douma’s clothes had been neatly folded on the opposite edge of the bed, from where you stood.

How terribly convenient.

As you showed up to dinner in his clothes, he couldn’t help but stare at you for the entire time as you ate with a confused and embarrassed expression on your face. He found it so cute—how oversized his clothes were on you—how small it made you look…

Oh, and bonus. He will be done for if you decide to put on his extravagant hat. I could write an excerpt for this alone.

He loves spoiling you. He will give you anything you ask for, + things you hadn’t even thought of asking him for yet. Whether that be any material thing or his time to fulfill your emotional needs, such as showering you with lots of affection, you will get it. He grew up having everything he wanted, so he wants the same for you!

He will always ask for you to eat with him. Even though he is a demon and wouldn’t touch the food himself, he would keep you company as he once again provides anything that you want to eat. He honestly doesn’t like the thought of you being lonely, especially during mealtimes which are, by tradition, supposed to be eaten with family.

He will cuddle with you any chance he has. He loves the feeling of embracing someone so small (yes, this is a reoccurring theme here.) Douma is a big fan of PDA. He will sit you on his lap as he attends to his followers’ problems and will most definitely remember the faces of those who decide to eye you wrong and will kill them later. He will cuddle you during the Upper Moon meetings if Muzan would even permit you there. However, in this case, he wouldn’t be able to kill any of the demons who frown upon you both (which would be all of them, especially Akaza,) and no exception when you guys are sleeping. He always takes the big spoon.

Douma loves teasing you. He mainly does it because it is entertaining to him whenever he gets a reaction out of you—as someone who can’t experience them himself, he finds your emotions adorable. He actually makes it sort of a game…

“Good morning, my angel~”

“I’ll take care of everything, darling, don’t worry about anything.”

“You’re so cute, my petal!”

If you hadn’t flustered by then, he would go ten steps even further.

One evening, you took a walk with Douma outside. You had been avoiding his constant flirts with you the entire day—in this game, your goal was to not succumb to his tries.

“The moonlight compliments your face well, beautiful,” Douma commented as you two entered a narrower path, where you had to squeeze closer to him.

“Thanks,” was all you said in reply. You did not want to give Douma his win tonight.

But you didn’t know he had something else up his sleeve. You continued walking in silence as he started humming to himself.

It was getting darker. Trees that surrounded you with branches above you were blocking the moonlight, making it hard for you to see…

“AUH!”

You tripped on something in front of you—it must’ve been a branch. You went flying forward.

Though, your face never hit the ground.

Douma had caught you—his arm wrapped around your waist to pull you back up, just to make you stare into his eyes.

“I told you my love, the moonlight brings out the best in your face. I wouldn’t want someone as precious as you to faceplant into the dirt, would I?”

He cupped your face gently and you couldn’t help but, feel yourself heating up out of embarrassment.

I win tonight. He smirked as he picked you up to carry back inside.

Little did you know that if you two had lingered there longer, and the trees would’ve somehow given way to the light, you would see a melting branch on the ground; strangely, you had tripped on ice.

He would have the best dates for you. Douma knows how to be romantic; he knows all the secrets of flattering a woman.

He would absolutely make sure he’s with you during the first snow. Actually, he’d do it himself—he would make the first snow happen while you two were out.

You’re the person who is slowly starting to make him feel things. Slowly but very assuredly, Douma is beginning to learn and become familiar with emotions. In this case, you have been through a lot, and you choose to be open about your feelings to him—your worries, frustrations, and disappointments. But you know he probably finds them unnecessary and stupid at the end of the day because Douma doesn’t feel emotions, right?

It’s quite a different story.

On the nights that you would stay up with him, silently crying into his arms because some problems are just too much for you to handle at the moment, Douma sits there, pondering if there was any authentic way he could respond to you.

Of course, he has seen enough in the world, where he’d know the most common way to act in this situation is to provide some sort of comfort to you, but Douma knew he would sound so ingenuine as how he was with the rest of his persona, which you had already known.

And so he continued to think. And then Douma realized he was annoyed he couldn’t actually do something to help you that would satisfy you and himself. Not “being able to feel anything” suddenly became a problem for him.

Though he was aware he was feeling something for you, for sure. He had never had so much concern for a human being before. Was what he was feeling for you pity? It had to be more. Usually, it entertained him to see a lady cry before him—it was pretty easy at that point to find her vulnerabilities and manipulate them, but witnessing you was blatantly distressing him.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my angel,” Douma finally said, breaking the ambiance of your sniffles in silence. “I solve all my devotees’ problems, and you are no exception. You are my priority.

“And best be true if it is another human causing my love so much disdain, they will end up with the same fate as me and not see the sun another day.”

yeah, i’m probably going to write a few oneshots with these and/or combine some of them into a fic ahahah.

reblogs to boost the post are appreciated! + likes & follows.

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emotiadouche · 1 year

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yandere gyutaro headcannons !

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🖇 ୧・request; " I really liked your yan kokushibo headcannons, can I get akaza, doma and gyutaro next plss?? "

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🪴 ୧・author's note; here's pt. 2!! as promised :) If you want to view akaza's click here, to view kokshibo's click here. next up should be inosuke then doma! i lowkey made gyutaro sound like the joker lmfao

✧༉‧₊˚୨ 🍃 ୧・ pairing; gyutaro x g/n reader! {you/your pronouns!}

✧༉‧₊˚୨ ✖ ୧・trigger warnings; manipulation, isolation, kidnapping, stalking, vague mentions of physical abuse, psychotic behavior, possessive nature, jealousy, abuse of power, love-bombing and grammar errors. If you are sensitive towards any of these themes please dni for they will be mentioned. {proofread.}

⚝. Just a reminder I don't tolerate nor do I encourage the following topics in reality; I like keeping it strictly to fiction.

꒰🪴꒱. Gyutaro is mesmerized by you. You were simply a treasure that needed to be preserved from the harsh reality of this cruel world. He couldn't lose you to the others who were out to get you for their own selfish desires and needs! The others only wanted you to suffice their own egotistical needs of theirs, they didn't care for you. They didn't for what you were. They only needed you for their own purposes, afterwards, they would simply discard you as if you meant as little as a speck of dust. A germ. An imperfection.

꒰🍃꒱. Well, that's what he thought about the others around you - so despicable and disgusting. They always reminded him of his past, when he was weak, feeble, a good-for-nothing, a useless, ugly child. All he wanted was to protect the ones he loved; his precious sister, Ume. He'd risk his life just for her, she was his everything and the only one who didn't frown upon him.

꒰🪴꒱. Unlike his fellow demons (Kokushibo + Akaza), you two never actually encountered eachother. It was more of a love-at-first-sight situation honestly. While at the Entertainment district one faithful night, he saw you from the shadows whilst Daki was busy capturing more victims to add to the food supply. You were walking and minding your own business as his eyes sage-green eyes glowed almost perfectly in the darkness which he watched from, a soft orangey umber lightly glistened to compliment his pupils. Those eyes followed your every move and trait you exhibited right there and then.

꒰🍃꒱. Gyutaro found you rather intriguing. Something radiated off of you, and that something wrapped him around your pinky. Was this some kind of spell of sorts? You were so alluring! But again, you were human. Those same disgusting creatures which he utterly despised. They could be so cruel. So unforgiving with no compassion for those in a position lower than them. He wanted to get away from you; you could've been of the same breed, a repulsive soul.

꒰🪴꒱. Surely, that could potentially be the case, however, why would he be so captivated by you if that were to be true? It didn't add up! He hasn't felt this way towards anyone but Daki; and it's safe to say, she isn't human. Not anymore at least. However, this felt stronger and it had more of a certain grasp on him than previously thought. What was he doing being so caught up with a simpleton?

꒰🍃꒱. He kept watching. The further you walked into the district, he began moving from roof to roof, still keeping himself hidden but still able to sneak glimpses of you. Your hair swayed in the chilling gale as an angelic smile plastered itself along your face, he watched how your face crinkled from your smile. It was so adorable.

꒰🪴꒱. He blushed. The heat was ever so slowly rising to his face as he kept watching you in all your beauty, you were a natural charmer, possibly. Gyutaro had never been so caught up with someone let alone a human like this before! But it could've been petty feelings due to the given moment. It wasn't a puppy crush after all, he would most likely never see you ever again. Yet, that was something he didn't want to happen.

꒰🍃꒱. He was so torn between letting you go or keeping you for himself. He is a bit selfish. As the night was still young, he took this time to his advantage. Meticulously taking his time to watch you, looking about to see if you talked to specific persons, your interests? Maybe even mannerisms and habits you exhibited at the time. Honestly, he did find you a bit strange even if you had him head-over-heels. Yoshiwara was known for sex work and having many prostitutes; who knew what you went there for.

꒰🪴꒱. Hours upon hours went by, it felt like mere minutes to Gyutaro. At that time, you've already done your business at the district and was focused on making your way back home. He couldn't lose you like that! Not after you captured his attention that is. He needed to know more about you to know you inside and out.

꒰🍃꒱. He finally made up his mind. He was going to follow you home; so creepy! But he did what had to be done. He followed you from afar still keeping you in his line of sight and made sure to remember where you lived. He had to retain that information, it's not like he'd see you often at the district.

꒰🪴꒱. Within a matter of 2-3 weeks, he observed your routine. Likes, interests, habits, eating patterns, sleeping patterns and all. Keeping tabs on you nearly always (when he could at least). The nights were spent with him carefully peeking through your window, watching your chest rise up and down as you slept peacefully, unaware of the green eyes resting themselves on your figure.

꒰🍃꒱. I am a firm believer that the demon tends to take things of yours just before you head to bed/not in the room at the time. He's sneaky and cunning with it as well; only small stuff though! Things such as a small fragment of clothing or trinket in your room that still has lingering touches of your scent. Something not so detectable.

꒰🪴꒱. As for rivals, he'd never dare to hurt them well maybe one or two, but what's one human less? Gyutaro is more of a person, well demon, to sulk in his own mind and overthink that'd you'd always prefer that person over him; after all he's an ugly, pathetic demon. That's all he is right? He just hates the thought of you belonging to another besides him.

꒰🍃꒱. It doesn't take him long to inform Daki of his new found strange behavior (sneaking out at nights all the time). And she is astonished, he older brother having a crush over someone? They must be great. If only it was a simple crush and not a full-blown obsession. However, as soon as Daki hears it's a human she's partially skeptical over this whole situation, yet she wants her beloved brother happy. Even when he rants for ages about you like a fangirl.

꒰🪴꒱. Honestly, it doesn't take him long to finally take you as his own; with the help (and permission) of Ume of course. He truly cannot withstand seeing you interact with those others. Who knows what their intentions may be? And after so many years of pining after you,, he needs to feel you. Just feel the soft warmth of your skin against his for once, his only wish.

꒰🍃꒱. At last, he took you to your new home! where he and his sister resides at the district. He felt so ecstatic that you're finally near him, now he doesn't have to make it a chore to find you every night. Isn't that great? You'll be right next to him every second of every day! In contrast to Gyutaro, Daki seems to be harsher towards you. Don't get me wrong she likes you, for her brother's sake, but you're a mere human. You better not try anything with her brother.

꒰🪴꒱. As expected, when you awoke you would freak out. Both of them would obviously have to explain themselves, more importantly, your fanboy had to. He was nervous and jittery, being in your presence sent him sky high! But he wasn't the most - good looking; he knew this well and clear.

꒰🍃꒱. Therefore, he opted to win you over with gifts. Maybe have Daki go and get you a nice outfit to suit your beauty, how about flowers? Many people like that! A home-cooked meal? Well he usually eats his meals raw.. but will try just for you! He just wants to have your love all to himself. Tying you up and night or holding you tightly within his arms. Sniffing at your hair and eagerly cherishing your scent. Wishing for you to be his yet doubt lingered in the back of his mind. It hurts him. Please, don't try to even fight back; it will not end well, especially if Daki is around - she can be ill-tempered.

꒰🪴꒱. You better get used to your new normal. It's not changing for even a moment.

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emotiadouche · 2 years

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Michael Myers when Reader tries sucking his dick to survive

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emotiadouche · 2 years

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Imagine if the reader is friends with Jace and Luke but also betrothed to Aemond, so when he makes that offensive toast at dinner, reader gets mad and confronts him. She says that if he actually loves her, then he would stop doing those things, which leads to a confession <3

𝐒𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐌𝐄

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; after a fight-provoking tribute at a family dinner, you ask aemond — your friend and betrothed — where his feelings lie.

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; princess!reader from an unspecified house, fluff, a bit of spice ♡

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; thank you all for the support! also a big thank you for those who wanted to be tagged :) you keep me going! for anyone who reads this, please reblog and comment with your feedback. i fall in love with everyone who does and it means so much! i appreciate you & be sure to consider following to stay updated ✨

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬; @deeeeexx @cassianas @sweet-andromeda @thedeathofduty @evasgreentea @burningcoffeetimetravel

𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐓𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄.

It started off a bit rocky, to be fair. But then Viserys’ made a plea for peace, begged for the family to heal, and the tension melted like a slab of butter in a warm hand. Everything finally seemed to be falling into place.

Forgiveness was offered. The family was together. Your betrothed was complacent, despite being in the presence of his nephews. Alicent hid her laugh behind a hand, Rhaenyra’s pretty lips were curled into a smile that matched Daemon’s, Jace and Helaena were dancing — it was all perfect.

You’re not even sure where it went wrong. It just did.

You are laying in bed now, hours after the eventful gathering. The insomnia you're experiencing is a classic case; Aemond's tribute plays over and over in your head. You aren’t even remembering the crucial details, like what he said or what you ought to have said.

Instead, all you can recall are the expressions on Luke and Jace's faces, the way the lighthearted mood deteriorated, and the clang of your knife on your plate after dropping it in shock.

You also remember storming out of the room.

Truthfully, you are embarrassed at your future husband’s behavior. His smirk had been so arrogant that you wanted to meet it with a fist, and you probably would have if you could get away with it.

You have been betrothed to Aemond for about a moon, and while you were aware of his distaste toward his nephews, you never thought he would disrupt his family as they attempt to repair the rift between them.

Over a fucking pig.

Maybe you should have expected it.

You met Aemond when you were both children, as your father had established a peace treaty with the Targaryens at the beginning of his reign. You saw the boy get taller, watched his jaw sharpen, and stared on as his charm turned into the stern temperament of a man. He learned to ignore the things that do not serve him.

You knew that Aemond became a person of duty, of justice; he would not let things go that easily. He held a grudge with the incident. Losing his eye.

Taking that into consideration, this should not have been that big of a surprise.

And Gods, do you still want to marry him. When your father informed you about the betrothal, you were overjoyed, fit to burst, chest suddenly stuffed with the warmth of the sun and a billion ‘what ifs.’

Aemond has fascinated you throughout the years; he has always seemed so at ease and still. Unhurried and righteous. He can remain at the fireplace for a considerable amount of time, leaving you to constantly wonder what he might be thinking and how he is able to survive in such solitude.

You love him. Always have, though you are too scared to tell him. Part of you wonders if he shares the same affections.

But there’s no chance of that, is there? Aemond does not allow himself to experience attraction or establish attachments. There is no changing that. He must have agreed to the proposal because it was the right political choice; there is no other reason why he would have accepted.

Aemond loving you back? It’s impossible.

You roll over onto your side and stare at the window that sits across the room, trying to focus on the moonlight drifting through. It takes about thirty seconds of dead silence for you to realize that you might just go insane. You’re literally about to grab an extra pillow and shove it over your face — with the plan of suffocating yourself to sleep — when you hear a knock on your chamber door.

The noise almost makes you jump. For a moment, you consider not answering it, but curiosity refuses to bid you farewell. You crawl out of the sheets and reach for a match on your dresser, flicking it against the wood to conjure a flame. You ignite the oil lamp that sits on your nightstand, the light basking the room in a warm, orange glow.

You are just making your way over to the door when the knock comes again. Straightening out your nightgown and taking a deep breath, you open it.

Despite the darkness of the stone hallway, you recognize Aemond immediately.

No, it‘s not just his chiseled face that gives him away, or the long silver hair that drapes over his shoulders. It isn’t the black leather tunic he wears, hugging his lean chest. It is the way he stands: the confident way he waits for you, chin high, strong and assertive.

He’s too perfect, despite being one of the most imperfect people you know.

“Princess,” Aemond greets. His eye briefly looks you up and down before focusing on your face again. “Green suits you.”

Your gaze flicks down to your nightgown — made from a beautiful silk and a deep emerald, decorated in golden floral designs. It was a gift from the Queen; even though you and Aemond had not married yet, she happily proposed that you start to wear the family’s house colors. You accepted, of course.

Aemond’s compliment is so genuine that you don't know how to respond. You feel a sense of pride at his admiration. “I do not wear the color much,” you shrug, trying to sound unbothered. “But I will get used to it over time.”

“You shall,” Aemond nods. He seems pleased. Pleased that you will become a Targaryen, that you will be dressed in the color of his house until the end of your days. It is a reminder that you’re his. All his.

“My Prince,” you change the subject. “Might I ask what you are doing outside my chambers this late?”

“I have come to talk.”

You fix him with a blank stare. Talk? The last thing you want to do is talk.

“Where did my guard go?” you ask slowly.

“I advised he take a walk.”

You get a feeling that the conversation with your sworn knight did not play out that way, but this is your future husband; it probably would not be a good idea to go to sleep on a bitter note. Biting back a retort and a sigh, you open your chamber door and wave him in. Aemond struts in casually.

He acts like he owns the place with how he stands directly in the center. You dawdle by the doorway, allowing him to observe the space: he takes in the fireplace, the golden decor, and then your bed, draped in silks and the pillows similar to the fluff of clouds. It’s a beautiful room, you must admit. You take pride in it.

“You are upset about the tribute, I presume,” Aemond says finally, turning to face you. That eye of his is the perfect shade of violet; purple like a flowering bruise, unclouded and intense and determined.

“I am not upset anymore,” you lie. “I do not care.”

“You do care.”

“No.”

It is quiet for a second. Not a word uttered.

Then Aemond pries you right open. “You do.”

“Fine. I do.”

“And why is that, Princess?” He almost taunts.

You want to snap at Aemond — ask him what he means and how can he take something like this so simply. It is not a joke. A civil war is brewing among his family, yet he does not take it seriously at all. He even seems to take joy in participating. The idea has you seething.

Here Aemond is, continuing to pretend that he is harmless, that his touch is gentle, that his palms won't burn handprints into your skin. You would almost believe it if you didn’t know any better.

“With all due respect, My Prince, Jace and Luke are my dearest friends. They are kind and loyal to me, as well as their family.”

Aemond hums, uninterested. "A dog possesses the same traits.”

An anger gathers within you. It screams right into your face: this is how it shall be and you will have to deal with it.

“You are playing quite the jester today, My Prince,” you tell him. I would like to slap you across the face, is what you’re truly thinking.

Aemond lets out an amused huff at that. The light from the lamp in the corner of the room dances along his silhouette, illuminating every plane of his face. His hair is a white, jewel-drenched curtain — there’s the urge to run your hands through it.

How can someone so gorgeous cause so much chaos?

"I am exhausted," you finally sigh. You can feel how hardened your expression has become. “I am finished with miscommunications and arguments. I have tried to refrain from intense emotions and confrontations. The moment I entered King’s Landing, I told you that there was to be no drama. You promised me. And what you did at dinner? That is the trouble I stray from, yet you seem so content in dragging me back in.”

Aemond’s mouth threatens to twitch into a scowl then. He’s trying to keep his face neutral, though annoyance peeks through the cracks in his façade. “You are acting as if jests are more harmful than stealing an eye.”

“I am not saying that. I am saying that if you are to be my husband, you should be shielding me from conflict. Not causing it.”

Aemond has nothing to say to that apparently. He just gazes at you piercingly, that one violet eye intently focused on you. You try to remain steadfast, although you do feel like shrinking under the chill of his stare. Somehow, you find the courage to continue.

“If you truly respect me as your future wife — if you truly love me — then you would cease this petty game.” You steel yourself, begging yourself to be bold and ask the question. “Do you love me, Aemond?”

For a moment, you catch how Aemond’s face changes into one of surprise; he obviously was not expecting that question. It takes a couple of seconds before he fixes his jaw, training his expression into something more cool. Practiced. Poised. But then he looks at you; truly looks at you, stares you down from the inside out. “I should be asking you the same thing.”

You freeze, almost shocked by the rebuttal. You can tell he is being serious: there is a sincerity with which he wants to know.

Aemond may be wild and deranged like a dragon, thirsting for havoc, but he still aches for approval and acknowledgment. Always has. Perhaps that’s what he wants; he wants to hear that even though he fails at kindness and charity, you are still able to love him.

“Tell me,” Aemond demands. Before you can say anything, he strides forward until he’s standing right in front of you. He leans into your space, breath fluttering along your cheeks and voice almost threatening. “Do you love me? For my righteousness that drives you mad and for my lack in restraint that you so despise?”

The fire inside Aemond could kill anyone in a five mile radius; he knows it. Yet he still wants you to love him, to bravely walk into the tempest. Locate him amongst each dancing flame.

“I will accept every piece of you,” is all you can choke out.

Aemond seems to mull the words over. His face is terrifyingly neutral as he observes you carefully; he must not know impatience.

“You still never answered my question,” You blurt. “Do you love me?”

Tell me you love me, is what you really want to say.

Aemond’s face remains blank for a second.

Unbeknownst to you, he’s almost offended at the inquiry. After all the years you have spent together, all the conversations and the secrets shared and the plights experienced — how could you utter such a thing? He was the one who spoke to his mother about proposing to you. Do you really think he did it for political gain? To secure a higher seat in the ranks of royalty?

Aemond almost sneers at your ignorance. “How much longer must we be together before you acknowledge that I am not doing this for power?”

“That does not comfort me, Aemond.”

Silence. Dead silence.

The lack of an answer from Aemond makes you worry: worry that you struck a chord within him, that you have irritated him enough for him to leave, that you have made him regret accepting you as his wife.

But something changes. Slowly — agonizingly slow — Aemond takes both of your hands into his, like a silent vow without words. A white flag of surrender. His profile relaxes into something slightly softer, more reserved.

At the end of the day, he is to be your husband. If you need comfort, he will give you comfort, even if it means he has to be vulnerable.

Just for you. Only for you.

“When we were children, you once accused me of not knowing the meaning of love," Aemond starts. "But you were wrong."

You begin to breathe faster, grateful he can only discern the the direction of your emotions and nothing more. Hearing those words makes you feel something; it flutters inside your lower belly and is comparable to hope.

“I do not give a shit about anyone but you,” Aemond admits. His voice is low, deep, sincere. You almost cannot believe it.

“Is that so?” You try to sound indifferent, but it’s not convincing. His face is so, so close: your noses are almost touching.

“I would not say it if it weren’t the truth,” Aemond hums. “I did not know how to deal with my affections before, nor did I accept them. You have tortured me into becoming someone I am not.”

Tortured?

“I don’t understand—“

“You are the sword I gut myself with; that, Princess, is love."

That’s it. That’s all you needed; that reassurance, that validation. Every single ache in your heart is extinguished in a single second, every wound healed, every internalized scar covered in gauze and bandages and the homeliness that accompanies love.

More. You want him to say more. “…And you will continue to love me?”

“You are mine until death, my dear wife. I am your monster for the rest of time. I am your insanity. I am yours.”

“And me?” You whisper. You’re struggling to focus, trying to remember that you’re mad at him, but his lips are right in front of yours.

Your question nearly makes Aemond chuckle. He holds it back, a sharp exhale of air coming from his nose instead. ��You are my refuge.”

“Your refuge?”

“My refuge,” Aemond repeats, his expression more resolute. “I can envision no other peace beyond the one that exists when our bodies are bound.”

“And you prefer me?” You want to be showered in his love, again and again. “Over anyone else?”

“I would choose you over all,” Aemond purrs. His tone, his accent — you could crumple to your knees. "The world is cruel and it steals from everyone, so I shall do the same. I will take what I wish. I will take you every time you are offered.”

Goosebumps threaten to rise from your body. Aemond’s hand comes down to rest on your waist, causing your breath to come out as a stutter. You’re not sure how you haven't disintegrated into nothingness. “I have loved you forever, Aemond.”

A warmth akin to sunshine rises in his face and he almost looks humored. You need him. And he needs you, though he may not outwardly admit it; needs you like you’re oxygen and he's trying to catch a breath.

Suddenly, Aemond’s hand grabs the back of your neck and he pulls you in for a kiss. Your fingers fly up to grip his shoulders when your lips touch, opening your jaw for him on instinct. You grab a fistful of his leather tunic and kiss him as hard as possible, allowing his hands to conquer your body. He tastes of peppermint, smells musky like dragon.

Everything seems to be on fire. The pit of your stomach, your blood, his mouth. All you feel is the strength of his silhouette against your own and you want to remember this forever. With how Aemond holds you so firmly — almost like you might disappear any second — you can tell he feels the same. You have the power to kiss away his suffering, his years of self-hatred, his doubts, and the crushed dreams of an irrelevant future that he always imagined.

Aemond’s hands roam to your lower back, thumbs digging into the silky fabric of your nightgown. You draw him closer, brushing your thigh against his crotch to get a reaction out of him. He lets out a ‘hmm’ into your mouth.

There is nothing you desire more than to examine Aemond in full view with all lamplights on and his clothing off, to have him slowly remove this gown from your body and take his time with touching every inch. You want to run your fingertips across the ridged skin of his scar and trace it all the way down. You want to feel the weight of him flush against you, wrapped around you. You want him.

Finally, you draw away, only to whisper.

“You said you would take me whenever I am offered. Take me then, Aemond.”

A fire alights in Aemond’s eye — he’s considering it — but the flames quickly freeze over with that sense of duty. Self-control. “Not like this,” he murmurs. “But I vow to treat you to obscenities when I bed you. I will leave such marks on your body that anyone you entertain afterwards will have to know me in order to know you.”

Aemond’s words have the ability to make you shiver. It only makes you more excited for your wedding day. Even then, you still want him in this moment. Need his presence.

“Stay with me tonight, at least,” you plead. “Just share the bed with me. Nothing else. I will bribe the guards tomorrow morning so we will not get caught.”

Aemond considers you for a long while. Then, without a word, he smiles. It’s sly, yes, but oh-so beautiful.

“So you will stay?” You ask again. Aemond hums in agreement, cradling your cheek in a palm. It is a tenderness that you were not expecting, but one that you accept heartily. He nods his head before speaking.

“If you put your hand in mine, my dear wife, I will always hold it.”

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